Guilty Conscience ~ Abbacchio/Fem Reader

Chapter 3: The Interrogation

It had taken all of fifteen seconds for the Pink Martini to be emptied. Patrons of the highest class pushed past one another and out into the venue's courtyard after seeing a member of staff pull a gun from his apron. And the commotion further escalated when a guest pulled his own weapon from his belt. But an empty lounge made for an easier interrogation; no matter how much Galstov screamed, nobody would hear him.

The lounge had darkened. With the sun leaving the summer sky to fall into a deep sleep, the bar took on a somber air. The clamor had caused drinks to spill and chairs to line the lounge's wooden floors, but the bodyguard squad's table remained pristine as they sat down to discuss what would become of the Viper in the bathroom. Dim stage lights illuminated most of the room as Bucciarati spoke.

"You worked with Galstov? Is that how the two of you recognized each other?" He sipped deeply from his wine as he awaited an answer. Y/N had to wonder how Bucciarati could be so calm after the mess that occurred not even ten minutes ago.

"Yes. He and I worked under Leaky Eye Luca." Y/N stood a single pace away from the table. Empty chairs sat pointlessly throughout the venue, but she thought it to be disrespectful to the bodyguard squad if she asked to take a seat. After all, her run-in with Galstov had caused quite the commotion.

Bucciarati hummed in understanding as more movement came from the men's bathroom. It appeared that the bodyguard squad knew that Galstov couldn't get out of whatever restraints they had put him in, and didn't bother glancing in his direction twice. He could make as much of a ruckus as he wanted, but he wouldn't escape.

Bucciarati began to rhyme off instructions to his squad, gesturing with a single hand while the other occupied the shaft of a wine glass. He spoke in terms that Y/N wasn't familiar with. The others watched their boss with steely gazes, awaiting the final 'okay' before they could stand to follow through with the commands. And in those moments that Bucciarati spoke to his team, Y/N felt isolated, completely lost to his foreign words. Shamelessly, she tried to discern and latch on to his orders, like catching fireflies in a mason jar, but just as his words did, all of the fireflies flew right over her head.

She tried her hardest to keep her attention glued to Bucciarati as he spoke. She recalled how Polpo felt about her looking away as they conversed, so she assumed that all mafioso deigned heavy eye contact as a form of respect; especially one as well put together as the man clad in black and gold that stood before her. But there was one member of the bodyguard squad who didn't look at Bucciarati as he spoke.

Abbacchio lounged in a chair beside Bucciarati, directly across from where Y/N stood. The mafioso clad in purple stared at her shamelessly; he didn't care that she was trying to stay focused or that she silently cursed his paralyzing gaze. And he clearly didn't care for the angry glances she discreetly sent back in his direction.

He had been staring at her for too long. She could deal with a few glares every now and then, but he was burying his gaze into her own. It was strange. She couldn't help but think how strange his eyes were too. Strange in the way that frightened Y/N, but insisted that she looked deeper into them all the same. Sometimes, she looked up at him and thought his eyes were a light shade of purple. As soft as the lilac hues of his long hair. But other instances, like this one, left Y/N to believe that his eyes were yellow. Cat irises to match his feline smile and standoffish personality.

He's sitting and he still manages to look down on me, she thought to herself. Y/N was unable to get him to look away, no matter how obvious she made her disgust. She rolled her eyes and scoffed at him. It was entirely too frustrating. His hair fell loosely across his shoulders and his hands laid lazily in his lap. It was as though Abbacchio sat in a river of calm; nothing could break his stillness as he remained seated, patiently awaiting his boss to finish delegating instructions.