Chapter 41: Thorns

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If you haven't joined the Omertà group by now or started reading BORGATA, your ovaries are seriously missing out.

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The goofy sweater that Ferro bought me at the store was perfect. It was baggy, soft, and a cream color. On the front was a giant Evergreen tree with a fuzzy sewn on star and little colorful pom-poms and other small decorations.

Once I was done getting ready, I met Ferro downstairs in the kitchen. There was more activity down there than at a mall during Black Friday. Cooks walked in and out from a back room and placed food the massive wrap around counter and the kitchen table. I'd never seen so many freshly shaved, extremely hung over men—most of which had Christmas sunglasses on—in one place.

As I walked further into the room, my sweater caught people's stare and I started to feel self-conscious. And when I tried to find Ferro, he was nowhere to be seen.

"I like the sweater." I turned to my right, to find Robert sitting on a stool and sipping a coffee. Sure enough, he'd shaved his face just like everyone else. He also appeared to be the most clear-headed man I'd seen downstairs, yet.

"Nah, I'm supposed to meet Ferro in here. Do you know where he is?"

"Fico wanted him in his office," a sandpapery, muffled, and hung-over voice murmured. "He'll be back in a little bit." My eyes skirted to the spot next to Robert, where a blonde man sat hunched over and dead-looking. He had his head face down on the counter. His arms blocked out any light from his face and covered his hair.

I assumed that was Benjamin.

"You don't sound too good," I commented. "I'm guessing your night didn't end when we all parted ways, huh?"

"This must be what death feels like," a raspy and muffled version of Ben replied. "Robert. Check my pulse, Robert."

"He's laying it on thick, so he can get out of a client he has to see in Pennsylvania this morning," Robert said. "Which he must have forgotten about, while he was fücking Santa Girl all night and banging against my bedroom wall. Thank you for that, by the way, Ben. I slept a fücking baby."

Been there.

"Excuse me, kind sir, but your information is incorrect." Ben lifted his head up, revealing an awful case of bed hair, slightly swollen, tired eyelids, and a bitter expression; an expression that was typically the aftermath of a handful of toxic waste sour candy. "I made out with Santa Girl. I fücked Reindeer Girl."

"Oh, my bad." Robert put his hands up mockingly. "No matter who she was, you knew you didn't have off today, moron."

Ben blinked. "Wait, do you have off today?"

Robert looked at me for a moment, and gave me a look that read 'get-ready-for-this-one', sipped his coffee, and then looked back at Ben. "No, Benjamin, I don't have work today—"

"Bobby, please cover for me! PLEASE! BOBBY!" Ben begged, clasping his hands together and invading Robert's space. "Please, Bobby! BOBBY! BOBBY! Please, cover for me! I'll do anything! Look at me, man! BOBBY! I'm a wreck. I have sleep bags under my eyes." He pointed at his eyes. "Do you see these? Aren't they disgusting? Sick, aren't they? I'm the baby in this estate, doesn't that count for anything? I'm just a baby, Bobby! Do you want me to get frown lines? Is that it?!"

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