la sicurezza del capo :: giorno x reader

capitolo 18 :: il sole al suo nuvole

It had been almost a week since the "unspeakable event", as you had liked to call it. It was the second one that week and ever since then, you had wondered if this whole week was a mere hallucination.

It took a funeral invitation, three whole bottles of wine and a mental breakdown to convince yourself it wasn't.

You wake up from a particular nap to a splitting headache, accompanied by an impressive hangover. Sveta, walking all over your back as an reminder to feed her wakes you up. As you come to your senses you realized that you had fallen asleep on the living room clutching an empty bottle of wine.

"Okay, okay," you groan, burying your head farther into the throw pillow you had fallen asleep on.

It hurts to move around the house, and pouring the five-pound bag of food out into her dish seems like an impossible task until you actually finish it. Thankfully, it had gotten rather late, so the sun wasn't out to burn your eyes off each time you decided to glance in the direction of a window.

An idea comes to mind. You knew that there was someone you could talk to in your times of doubt.

You put on your "please, don't talk to me" outfit: old, worn jeans, a free sweater from an event long ago, old sneakers and one of your leather jackets. Quickly brushing your hair and applying some mascara, you announce to Sveta that you'd head out.

You walked (well, slightly stumbled) downtown. You were too afraid that you'd crash your only car if you decided to drive.

Turns out it had recently rained as well - your sneakers splashed against the puddles on the sidewalk, and the smell of fresh rain hung in the air. Once you reached that dimly-lit street, you smiled in the same manner you would when coming home from work when you walked towards that all-too familiar building.

You walk inside the bar and sit down at the counter, looking down at your feet the moment you pick a seat.

"Hm. Seems I have a visitor."

You look upwards and grin half heartedly. It was your cousin, who had mentioned he worked at this bar at another family gathering. Even though his real name was Francesco everyone just called him Frankie, and he was like a brother to you. He wipes off a glass with a dish rag and leans against the counter across from you.

"Yeah, I never anticipated paying you a visit, but here I am," you sigh. Frankie laughs. "Geez. What can I get you?" And you pick a toothpick from one of the little cups filled with them and place it in between your teeth. "I'll be a sophisticated adult tonight, so whiskey. On the rocks."

Eventually he slides you one and you take a sip. "Do your cousin a favor and have this be on the house?" You ask, and he nods. "Whatever. You totally didn't forget your wallet."

The hired bar singer starts to belt out some Frank Sinatra, and somehow, wanting to fly to the moon seems to lift your spirits just a little. "So how have you been?" Asks Frankie, "judging by those bags under your eyes, something's going on."

And flashbacks ensue. All you can do is take another sip and shake your head. "Work's been sorta rough." And you hold your head in your hands. "Promise me something," you whisper to him. "If I get fired, please, get me a job in this bar."

"Sure, y/n, I'll take it up with my boss when you get fired." He obviously doesn't believe that you'll get fired, but he obviously doesn't know how badly you've fucked up in the past couple of weeks.