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— Oh… oops, looks like I stained my cute little dress — I drawled, hugging the pole with one arm and tilting my head a bit to take a look at the small spot just below my waistline. I shrugged and shivered, pressing a little closer to the pole. 'Fuck, did I just say that out loud? Tony, focus, for fuck’s sake! You’re not some chick on a shopping spree, you’re here to squeeze a confession out of Bobby Falcone.'
Outside, a ringing laugh slipped out, as if I was mocking myself on purpose, though in truth it really did look funny to me. But if not for this fucked-up body, half a year ago I wouldn’t have moved a single muscle in my face. And now, I cocked my hip like I was posing for an invisible camera, sliding my palm down the dress so slow it looked more like a damn show than checking the fabric, and I cursed myself again for letting it slip out loud.
— What a little… — I said the first thing that came to mind — sweet doll I am, so-o-o careful with my clothes.
It came out playful, drawn out, like I was really some empty-headed chick, not the right hand of Marco Filoni — Tony, goddamn Razor!
Finally, I saw the car pulling up. A black Cadillac Escalade, shining like it just rolled out of the wash. The wheels hissed slowly on the empty street as it stopped and parked. I straightened up fast, arched my back, deliberately showing off the red rag of a dress cut open all the way down to the waist, stuffed tight with my brand-new ass.
'Easy now, Tony. This ain’t no date, so keep those fucking girly tricks under control. This is Bobby Falcone. First on the list. If anyone could have put a hit on you — it’s him. And if it’s not… well, you’ll still break him.'
I bit my lip and let out a light giggle, like this whole meeting was nothing more than some high school party flirt. I even traced the asphalt with the tip of my shoe like I was drawing hearts, even though behind my back, cold steel pressed against my hand — heavy enough that with these weak little arms of mine, it felt damn hard to hold.
The Escalade’s door opened, and Bobby Falcone himself stepped out. Asphalt-gray jacket, chain on his neck, heavy gaze — everything about him screamed “old wolf.” Behind him came his two loyal dogs, the Dillon brothers, Matt and Dylan, both in matching leather jackets, with faces carved out of brick.
— Oh my, so many of you boys — I sang out, lifting my hip and stepping in a way that made the skirt of my red rag twitch, barely covering my thighs. — A whole harem for one… little girl.
I ran my finger along my lips and burst out laughing, the sound so loud and empty that even the stray dogs on the street would’ve probably flinched.
'Shit, Tony, you’re good! Never thought I’d ever use this crap and not feel like dying. Ha! Fuck you all! Maybe I can’t stop talking and acting like a dumb cunt, but I’ll still put a bullet in the bastard who made me fall asleep every night with tits that won’t even let me roll onto my side!' And right then, a smile spread across my face as I pictured those three ending up in my place. 'Tony, no, don’t blow your cover, it’s too early!' I snorted, covering my mouth with my palm like some little girl caught in a dirty thought. My fingers stretched out, I swayed my shoulder lazily, moving closer and closer to them, still holding what looked like a gun — though it wasn’t one.
— What a mess — muttered Matt, the one with the square jaw. — Boss, I don’t like this chick.
— Relax, Matt — Bobby said quietly, without even turning his head. His voice was raspy, calm, like he was talking with a cigar clamped between his teeth. — She’s just a girl. Looks like she’s high on some shit.
I didn’t hear what those idiots were mumbling, because at that very moment I was already singing out, having gotten close enough that I definitely wouldn’t miss:
— Oh, Booobby-y-y! — I laughed out loud, tossing my head back so my dark ponytails swung. — Long time no see! Hee-hee! Do you recognize me?...Full story (16 500 characters - 3 parts + add. images) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon