Guilty Conscience ~ Abbacchio/Fem Reader

Chapter 25: Betrayal

A stampede of footsteps thundered across the dock as Abbacchio held his knife against the smooth fabric of Y/N's shirt. She didn't lower her gun as he continued to press the point of his dagger into the firm muscles that rippled across her stomach. The two stared mercilessly at one another. It felt as though a lock had been placed over their bodies, leaving the two unable to move, breathe or think about anything aside from what was before them. It was dangerous, and yet so familiar all at once. From the corner of her eye, Y/N watched as the Brute's jaw clenched and unclenched, growing tenser the longer he stared into her unmoving gaze.

"That's enough, morons," Mista said, finally reaching where she and Abbacchio stood. Sliding to a stop, the Gunslinger eyed them both as he spoke."We just got here! Can you two cool your jets for a second? You can kill each other later, just ease up, for now, kay?"  Thick waves rolled into the underside of the dock as Mista wrestled his way in between their heated stare-off, pushing either criminal further away from one another.

Abbacchio glanced briefly at the Gunslinger before returning his stare to Y/N. "Isn't this thing supposed to be dead?" He asked, flicking his knife at her face. Mista rolled his eyes and shoved a little harder, making Abbacchio take another step back. "Just shut up you oaf! And back up. What are you two doin'? Tasting each other's breath?" Abbacchio stumbled back as Mista plowed his forearm into the bigger man's chest.

Y/N watched soundlessly as the Brute struggled less and less, finally letting Mista guide him away from her. At the edge of the dock where the water splashed up at their feet and dampened their boots, the two mafioso spoke. The rhythmic tides that beat against the dock drowned out the sound of their hushed voices and Y/N's imagination was the only thing that could allow her to hear what they might be saying. Surely, they're talking about me. . . but what exactly could they be discussing? Did Bucciarati ever tell them the truth? Did he tell them that I really wasn't dead?

Too many long seconds of hushed voices and silently standing passed — too much time for them to be planning something against her — so she asked: "Where's Bucciarati?" She tucked her gun into the underside of her jacket and pulled the sunglasses off her nose, setting them atop her head. But the Gunslinger didn't reply, and neither did Abbacchio. Both men stared blankly at one another as Mista's palm still pressed into the Brute's chest. Y/N opened her mouth to ask again, curious as to where her saviour might be — her redemption — but Mista huffed a sigh and began to talk without even looking at her.

"Find him yourself, Phantom. He's around here somewhere. But seriously, I'm not running any errands for you." Y/N stood calmly, staring at the back of his head as his shoulders moved up and down, shifting with his every breath. He still wore the same hat he always did. He still stood tall and proud. The Gunslinger shook his head slowly, disappointment seeping from his skin. "I don't do dirty work for cops like you."

Ocean waves slapped the side of the dock in a simple beat. The wind picked up and rustled Y/N's hair, leaving a cool, absent chill on the back of her neck. Mista was upset with her — rightly so. But seeing him without his giddy smile and joyful attitude was strange. It left a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach; it was as if the longer he frowned at her, the more empty she felt.

Before, when things were different — when the words Rest In Peace weren't carved into a flat stone with her name chiselled above it — she would've cried. Y/N would've let the hot tears roll down her cheeks in hopes that Mista and Abbacchio alike would be able to see how sorry she was — how hurt she was by her own lies. She would've cowered in a corner, far away from the ones who were once close to her in hopes that one day she may find their forgiveness in her own solitude. She would've sobbed at the thought of coming so close to falling for someone — for letting herself tear apart an already broken heart that wasn't even her own. But it wasn't before, it was now. And Y/N was different. Mista and Abbacchio could be as mad at her as they'd like. After all, they had every right to be angry when it was Y/N who walked all over their trust. But at the same time, Y/N knew she had a job to do. She was a hunter of justice. She was an officer who was tasked with putting away Italy's most infamous criminals. If anything, they only had their selves to blame for trusting Y/N so blindly. And for that, she did not cry, she only continued to stare at the back of Mista's head as he pointed his eyes away from her.