Pretty Girls and Ugly Lies

Joëlle ( Chapter I )

[ A/N: Joëlle, Alexandre, Josue, and Alexandrine all belong to DerpingToaster ]
[ This story contains violence, alcohol and drug usage, LGBT+, mentions of past pedophillia, abuse, strong language, Stockholm Syndrome, the Mafia, torture, sexual themes, hints of one-sideness and mental illnesses ]
. . .
Viveca's P.O.V.
. . .
"Viveca, Marco, to my office, now," Godfather Leblanc barked through the speaker of the prison. I was currently messing with my fedora, trying to find an angle that looks good on me, but I gave up once he ordered for us to head to his office. I exited my room, noticing Marco was trailing far behind, but I didn't wait up for him, we needed to get going before he skins us.

By the time I reached Godfather Leblanc's office, Marco had just arrived, panting slightly. He must've jogged here. We both entered our boss' office, closing the door behind us. Godfather Leblanc was a scary man, standing at 6'3", dirtied blonde hair, tired brown eyes, and a scar across his cheek. He has tattoos poking out from his collar and were decorated all across his arms. He scrunched up his nose at us as if he had something sour in his mouth, "Why're you standing there? Take a fucking seat, I've got something for you two that you'll love to get your fucking dirty hands on," he ordered.

Immediately, we both sat down, it was kind of funny how Marco obeyed Godfather Leblanc since he was two inches taller and three years older than him, but since he was the founder of the Mafia, he had to listen to him.

The Frenchman leaned back in his chair, "So, our little lady told us that one of the city counsel members' is off on a business trip and won't be back for some time and that all of his mind controlled bitches will be cleared out for the evening, but his daughter will be home. Alone," he smirked devilishly, "you sick fucks know what to do, yes?" We both nodded, "Good, I don't have to explain, meet up with Guérin and she'll give you the address of this bitch. Do not fail me,"

We nodded again, standing up and leaving his office. So, we just have to kidnap some rich bitch? Easy enough.
. . .
We waited until nightfall before getting a hold of the girl's address from Alexandrine. The small chubby girl wished us luck as Marco and I made our way to one of the cars we had stolen. She was a sweet girl, that I can admit, and at one point, I think I might have liked her, I can't remember, but of course that possible last feeling was gone when Monica came into the picture. I don't mind their relationship, but I'm not one who likes seeing public display of affection. It's like rubbing it in everyone's face that you have a cute partner to snog on whenever. Of course, I'm one of the unlucky girls who hasn't found her Prince Charming or Sleeping Beauty yet, as it was hard to find someone who would like a girl who's in the fucking Mafia, but then again, it should be hard, maybe even impossible. No one in their right mind would love a cold-blooded killer, you know?

These thoughts evaporated from my mind as Marco started up the car, which purred kindly in response. The car crept out of the hole in the wall in the back of the abandoned prison that we covered with a large sheet to keep people from seeing the cars, but then again, it wasn't easy to see the back of this building anyways. I watched the scenery of crumbling buildings and broken cement pass by as we started towards the big, eye straining city. The leader of the city counsel, or mayor I guess, was probably drunk when he thought it was a good idea to make this place brighter than the fucking Sun.

Marco spun the wheel, turning our vehicle around a corner as we drove deeper and deeper into the city. Soon enough, we'll be smack dab in the middle of the rich folk part, I hate it there, it makes me want to gag.

"O'Thullivan," the lisping Arabic grunted, causing me to glance in his direction, "I have a bad leg after the latht athignment Godfather Leblanc thent uth on, do you think you can thneak into the girl'th houthe and get her yourthelf?" He asked.