Tom Holland is London's most mysterious yet terrifying mob boss. Nobody dares cross his path, let alone come within 10 feet of him, but when a certain barmaid is forced to catch his eye, she's swept up in a flurry of pain, passion and danger. What c...
(A/N: important warning! some light drug abuse mentioned in this chapter! i said i would mention it because as far as mob fics go, death and assault is inevitable because lets be honest that's like 90% of their job and otherwise there'd be a warning at the start of almost every chapter (obviously, the mob isn't pretty.) but drugs are very much a give or take depending on the family, and i know that drugs can be very triggering for some people. if it gets too much for you, please don't hesitate to stop reading, i absolutely don't mind if you comment or message me and i can send you the rest of the chapter after it stops. remember, the most important thing here is to look after yourself! even in your downtime whilst reading, your mental state is always important. x)
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"What exactly do you wear to a business deal in such a fancy bar? Do I go combat or do I go fancy? Or both? It's easy for men but tactical and fancy are two completely different outfits for women." Y/N babbled as she sifted through the wardrobe in front of her, a frown etched on her face and entirely unaware of the amused smirk on Tom's behind her.
Tom had finally convinced both Y/N and his men that he was ready and good to go, even going as far as to get confirmation from Dr. Livingston when she didn't quite believe him - but he promised her that he was better, and how could she ever say no to him?
"You're not gonna need to run in guns blazing sweetheart, if anything goes down you've got me, Harrison and the twins - and Davidson and Jamie will be right outside the doors just in case." She watched him through the reflection in the mirror beside her as he rubbed a hand across his chin.
"I know that but...what if something does go wrong and I have to run? Do I look like I can run in these?" She hissed at him, and he raised up his hands in surrender as she waved a shoe with a 7 inch heel at him.
"Well, maybe wear something a bit shorter, or a boot so its sturdier and easier to run in if you're so worried - but I promise you darling, you'll be fine. There'll be no need to run."
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Pulling up to The Scotch of St James wasn't something Y/N thought she'd be doing on a Friday night in December. Before Tom, she probably would've been at Jay's - or Jay would be at hers, and they'd be binge watching all the latest episodes of their newest shows together so they could yell and scream whilst huddled up in blankets and their onesies. But life was different now, and Y/N knew that one day she'd get fully used to it - but some instances were still odd all the same.
Tom seemed to move through the crowd like a summer breeze - warm and inviting. Everyone that he passed seemed to at least know of him, if they didn't literally know him. It was endearing to see how well respected he was by everyone - people pausing their night to offer a handshake or to try to barter with him to accept a drink off them; but Tom had more important things to do, and less people to trust, and swiftly shook hands and declined drinks left and right - eventually making his way up the stairs to the private room at the back of the club.
Y/N tried not to show she was concerned - almost nervous, but not quite, as she sifted her way through the crowd behind Tom, her hand lightly grasping his. She could feel the cool metal of the pistol strapped against her thigh under her dress, it made her shiver.
Tom had told her she didn't need to worry, that she'd be protected, but she couldn't leave it sitting in her nightstand. She just had a bad feeling, especially with how quiet everything had been since Milani had made a surprise return.
(A/N: added a shitty paint drawing of the layout of the room below, as the last bit of this chapter might be a bit confusing otherwise)
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