Guilty Conscience ~ Abbacchio/Fem Reader

Chapter 4: The Importance of a Seatbelt.

The steady pulsing of a headache began to bloom across Y/N's forehead. Her hands remained folded, neatly cradled in her lap. And her chin tucked down, nestled between the curves of her collar. She sat quietly, sandwiched between two mafioso in a bleak van, filled with more mafioso. Her senses were overrun by a mix of cologne and car freshener and the most subtle him of teenage body odour. The vehicle smelt like a high school hallway and Y/N grew uncomfortable with the familiarity of the aroma.

To her left sat the lean raven-haired boy she thought to be far too young and curious for the mafia. And to her right sat the gunslinger who acted far too casually to be a mobster. Narancia and Mista. The boys occupied most of their time in the van chatting amongst themselves, acting as though they had no knowledge of Y/N's presence. To them, she was nothing but delusion to be ignored. Their imagination. But in hindsight, Y/N was grateful for their blatant disregard. She preferred the quiet over most things.

From beyond the tinted glass, Y/N could see that the van of criminals moved quickly away from Via Romana and closer to the bustle of the city; the more people to see, the easier it was for the mafiosos to become lost in the crowd. It was exactly what they wanted. To become one with the swarm, and to make things difficult for the police who would soon be close behind.

The vehicle was mostly silent save for the chit chat that floated around the back seats. And unfortunately for her, Y/N was stuck in between their banter. The same two mafioso that had blown up her car - her rental car - had found no problem in settling themselves on either side of her. She would somehow have to explain the absence of her car to the motor shop she leased it from. And the boys did not at all seem to care for her predicament. Her lips puffed up and her brows turned down, etching deep lines of frustration into her features. Y/N couldn't tell if Mista and Narancia had seen her pout and chose to ignore it, or if they were too distracted by their own arrogance to see the displeasure written all over her face.

Moments after seating themselves beside her, Y/N demanded an explanation for their choice of car. Why did they choose her car out of the sixty other vehicles that lined the private parking lot? And it came as no surprise when Narancia chimed in and claimed that Y/N's car was "cheap looking", and so he and Mista took the liberty of removing it from the luxury venue. It was to serve as distraction. To get the cops to look one way while the bodyguard squad ran the other. "Without the explosion, the cops would've been all over us by now," is what Narancia added with a toothy grin. But their response only sent her into a deeper pit of frustration. And so Y/N chose to keep her head down and sulk in silence. Though nobody made a move to talk with her anyways. Or not until one of the boys swung his head in her direction.

"Oh come on lady! You can't pout like that forever. I feel like every time I look at you your lip gets fatter and your eyes get droopier."  Mista spoke in a raspy whine. His head was tilted to the side so that he could get a clear view of Y/N's entire face. And when she looked at him, pitiless pools of coffee brown started back at her. His eyes were so handsomely dark that she could see her own reflection.

"Well how do you expect me to be able to drive around now that my car is in pieces? And what about the rental place? What should I say to them?" She questioned him, but her pointed features faded away once she saw only a flash of pity drench the gunslingers face. Maybe if I hadn't screwed Bucciarati's team over my car wouldn't be in smithereens, she thought to herself. Though she knew she was mostly at fault, for getting the attention of everyone at the Pink Martini and for alerting the traitors of the bodyguard squad's presence, Y/N couldn't help but be frustrated with the two arsonists.

Without taking so much as a glance, Y/N felt Fugo's cold eyes peering at her from the rear view mirror. She turned from the gunslinger and to the strawberry blonde who took up the driver seat, and she waited, curious as to what he might say. "Well, Ms. Y/N, I would say that it's a good thing that they disposed of your car."