Tommy POV ~
"The people win when when the dictators fall."
Every day was just spent in the dark messy office. Every fucking day Tommy was alone. He read through letters, business proposals and listened to people tell him that it would all be ok in the end; bullshit. All he wanted was to just go up to the bedroom to see Grace standing there at the window, but she never was. After all he knew what he had to do to regain his sanity, he had to learn how to let go.
"Fuck," Tommy muttered as he rummaged through numerous pieces of paper, in an attempt to find some contracts from multiple different businesses. Slowly he became more aggravated and in one quick movement, hundreds of pieces of paper went flying around the desk until they landed on the dirty floor. The room hadn't had a proper clean in weeks seeing as Tommy hardly ever came out, only to see Charlie and take a walk in the evening.
"You're a wreck you know." A voice from the other end of the room said. He looked up to see Pol standing there with a weak smile on her face. She wore black as did she every other day, and stood there cig hanging from the corner of her mouth. "How long is it going to take you to realise that she isn't going to come back?"
His jaw became tensed, and he moved his head to look up at her. Walking around the room she gently brushed the things around her, and reached the cabinet that held all the liquors. Grabbing a glass she poured herself a glass of strong Gin, and Tommy some Irish whiskey. Gladly he took it from her and downed it all in one letting it burn; but he loved the sensation.
"I know that she's gone Pol," He mumbled and Shifted in his chair.
"Then come back to us. We ain't gonna run this enterprise without ya Tom," They stayed in absolute silence until she decided to bend down and pick up the scattered papers. Ocassionaly her eyes skimmed across some of words, but none of which made any sense to her. Shuffling them about she placed them on Tommys desk and started to neaten a few things up. "You could a least let the maids clean this fuckin' room." She picked up a letter with a wax stamp and read what it said.
Any returns to:
The Marchetti estate.
"What the hell is a letter from some fuckin' Italians doing on your desk!" She began to raise her voice, just as Tommy grabbed it from her and ripped it open. The paper was nicely folded and the letter was all handwritten. "I swear to god if that's the Mafia Tom--"
"It's nothing," He read it realising what it was and through it back onto the desk. Pol eagerly picked it up and began to read, her mouth fell open as she looked at the numbers in front of her. Before Tommy or Pol could say anything she started to hit him repetitively.
"YOU SPENT £27,495 ON A FUCKIN' SET OF JEWELLERY FOR GRACE, WHAT THE FUCK!" She continued to hit him but he didn't faze, not one bit.
"That was cheap it could've been more," The words were so blunt just like he couldn't care less. She sighed and lent her back up against the desk, watching Tommy light his ciggarette and begin blowing smoke out. Picking up the letter she turned to look at it again, and then at the back and read what it said.
"Well according to them you haven't paid up yet so they want ya to meet them in.....wherever the fuck that says." Tommy snatched the letter from her and looked puzzled as he read it. "Do you 'ave the money then?"