My Tragic Mafia Life | ✔️

51

From the height of the overarching dome, the throngs of people down below looked like the underside of beetles she'd crush with the end of her heel. Josephine pressed a hand to the glass sheath, a riveting chill pressing back, and she peeled it off. She indulged herself in a few more glimpses of the protruding buildings the colors of an ashtray before returning to her desk in the far end of the office.

Father would have expected her to be on the next stacks of papers by now, and she didn't intend to disappoint him.

Her shadowing had begun a month prior, when Mother sprung into her room with a newly set of posh clothing. Office-styled, her mother explained. Sophisticated yet clean. Elegant yet not a tease. It was okay. Josephine had chosen tan pumps from the arrangement given, a navy slim skirt, a frisky blouse, and a matching jacket that hung off her shoulders. Her hair had been gelled into a clean ponytail, and she wore her best pair of diamonds to give the look a little more of her own taste.

Father clearly hadn't noticed. Nor did he care. And she was wearing the clothes Mother picked out, so she was also happy. And if they were, she was. That's how their dynamic had always been.

Josephine picked up the pen she had left unattended on the large spruce desk while she amused herself with the view. She brought the stacks of papers to her face, organized by file, eyeing over prices and inflections and this over that.

Truthfully, it had been hard to work here in the beginning. Four, no really five, years of highschool had made her forget what it was like to be an environment and focus for so long. Without having that upper hand to rely on someone else's' work, only your own.

Still, complaining was a waste of time. And she had a deadline to reach.

In her private office, Josephine flipped over the stacks and papers and began writing. She tidied over the errors she was meant to correct and listed the numbers to calculate. Unexpectedly, she wasn't that bad at running businesses. Well, the parts that Father had assigned to her.

She flashed through one line. Her pen rippled over the paper. Then another. Over and over until time stretched and the hands of the clock blew heavy and drooped down.

Suddenly, her phone pinged.

She briskly rolled her eyes. She had sent a long message to the menagerie of her friends, telling them to cut whatever nonsense or drama they had created to be saved until she saw them at school. She was busy. Distractions like these would make Father disappointed. The last thing she would want is that, not when her inheritance was at stake.

Josephine turned on the phone. Camillo had written, Hey. What's up?

She wrote back furiously on pink nails, I'm busy. Don't bother me.

Doing what? He replied in mere seconds.

She... She looked back to the stacks of papers needed to be worked on. It was only a quarter of the way through. But if Camillo needed to tell her something urgent about Hugo, then maybe he shouldn't avoid his texts.

Better to the point than baseless chatter. She typed, What do you want?

Ouch. Then he added, Nothing. I was just thinking about you.

She threw the phone in her purse and sealed it tight. Camillo's flirts had been an endless ravine. She had been drowning in them for a couple of weeks, now more than ever with Lexi trailing after Luca. He was lonely, but Josephine had no intention of thinking about becoming his bed warmer.

Her eyes narrowed on the tasks that needed to be done. She could finish this. With time to spare. Josephine ripped out a fresh new pen and worked. For some time, it was complete silence.