What Would They Say - mob!Tom x Reader

Two

Two nights later and I'm on shift again. James and Ollie said that they'd swing by at some point but weren't going to stay long because Ollie needed to pack and James was going to help. Ollie was leaving early the next morning for the army, a dream that he had held since he was a little kid, much to the disapproval of his parents.

At the moment, though, the bar is fairly empty. A couple of the regulars are sat at various tables and Jon's talking to a man about his trip to London. It's as I'm cleaning the bar and washing up glasses that the door swings open and Tom makes an appearance.

Jon and I both watch as his eyes flick around the area and we exchange an unsure look. I take half a step towards the back office, to alert Mr Terry of the man's appearance in the bar but Tom catches my movement and holds out a hand.

"He doesn't need to know I'm here," he instructs. I swallow and nod, my eyes trained on him as he slides onto a stool at the very end of the bar, the side nearest the door. "Same as last time, darling," Tom orders and I nod, taking a freshly washed glass and filling it up and setting it on the bar in front of Tom.

I move to walk away from the man, figuring that he clearly wants privacy, never mind the fact that he scares the shit out of me but am stopped by his hand reaching out to grab my shirt. I whirl around to face him again, instinctively moving my hand out of his grasp.

"Can I help you with anything, Mr Holland?" I question and Tom observes me for a second.

"Company," he states simply and I feel colour rising in my cheeks.

"I... I have to work, Mr Holland," I try to excuse myself but Tom shakes his head.

"The bar's practically empty. Besides, I see you talking with customers all the time when you're working," Tom points out. I swallow and nod, carefully wiping the wooden bar down and silently praying for the entrance of another customer. No such luck.

"Okay then," I agree quietly, not wanting to anger the man who could easily have me ordered to be killed, if not kill me himself. Tom hums in appreciation as he takes a gulp of the drink in front of him. Either not noticing or not caring how uncomfortable I clearly am.

"Why do you work here?" Tom asks me and I smile down at my hands at the straightforwardness of the question.

"The same reason most people work? For money?" I suggest, grinning shyly and Tom laughs quietly at that. "I have to pay for uni somehow," I say, looking up at him with a small smile.

"Don't most people's parents pay for their university education?" Tom questions, quirking an eyebrow. I remain quiet, feeling the smile slip off my face. "Y/N?" He questions, a more serious tone in his voice, clearly not used to people ignoring his questions.

"They pay what they can." I say, a note of finality in my voice, indicating that I no longer want to talk about the subject. When I sneak a look at Tom from the bar I notice the slight unimpressed frown that resides on his face, clearly unsatisfied by my answer. "What happened to your friends?" I blurt out, not wanting to hover on the subject of my university life any longer.

"They're busy. My brothers went home. Harrison and Jacob have... business to attend to," Tom answers. "Where are yours?"

"Packing," I respond simply, "they said that they're going to drop in later for a break from it,"

"They leaving you?" He questions, a cheeky smile on his face and my cheeks heat up at the sight of it. I refrain from rolling my eyes, still finding myself being intimidated by him despite the friendliness of our conversation.

"They have their own lives too, Mr Holland," I point out and Tom chuckles lowly.

"You can call me Tom, you know,"