a chuisle mo chroí ♡ JFK ✔️

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈; 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐫 🎀

Alice stood idly on the spot. She wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to do so-she was in the middle of the parking lot, where everyone could see her.

The first man she saw was Tony. She didn't mind him, he was harmless as far as she knew. But the man at his side was one of the Marino's. Francesco.

Alice should've known that something like this could happen. Beto was no longer doing business with the Giordano's since they made a pact with the Marino's, but he was still inside a circle that proved to be too close to them. The workshop was likely dedicated to fixing, changing, and selling stolen cars. It was textbook mob business.

In her search for some adrenaline-inducing experiences, Alice had forgotten to make calculated decisions. She'd once again blindingly trusted her innocent, naive belief that the real world wasn't as bad as it really was.

But the worst was yet to come.

Gazing over at the second car, Alice barely trusted that the person her eyes were setting upon was Dean Silverman. Rotten, ghastly Dean Silverman.

Alice wanted to run to Beto and tell him that they needed to go home instantly. But he was still driving. Alice had nowhere to run.

The Marino's and the others began greeting Beto's group. They didn't seem to be overly friendly or even acquainted. It looked like Silverman was the one who uniting both ends and had told the mobsters about the race, from what Alice could tell by lip-reading and body language.

Surely Beto would've never joined that workshop if he knew Dean Silverman was affiliated with them somehow.

Alice tapped her foot against the ground, waiting, praying Beto would just appear already before she was noticed. A cold sweat formed on her forehead.

"Hey, Alice, are you alright?" Sam, who'd walked over to her after seeing how she hadn't moved an inch since starting the race, asked. "Why aren't you coming back to us?"

The paralyzing feeling didn't allow her to respond or move. Her eyes were still fixating on the scene before her.

Even though, by the way he was walking he already seemed to be inebriated, Dean walked over to the beer cans. After bending down to get a couple of them, he looked up.

The blood in Alice's veins froze.

Dean locked eyes with her as if he'd been anticipating her presence in that very spot.

"Alice Olivares! Fancy seeing you here." The first words to come out of his mouth already sounded condescending beyond measure. "Hey, look! It's the stuck-up I told you about!" He shouted at his friends while he opened a beer for himself.

It was clear as day that Dean had been humiliated by Alice's rejection of him last year, and he'd tried to play it off by calling her a stuck-up. As if Alice had any obligation to give in to his weak whims.

"Man, back off." Sam tried to help.

But the others were already joining, curious as to what all the fuss was about.

"Long time no see," Dean continued, spluttering beer from his mouth as he spoke. Francesco stopped at his side. Silverman eyed Alice up and down. One of his eyebrows quirked up as he settled his eyes upon a certain part of her outfit. An ill-natured grin showed on his face. "How about that? I was right."

"About what?" Questioned Francesco.

Alice still couldn't say anything. She took the next words from Dean as her turn to be humiliated.

Dean let out a humourous scoff before speaking. "I think she's fucking the President."

"Of the United States?" Francesco asked with a lost look on his face.