“Not until you talk to me,” Tommaso disagrees.
I grab the bottle of scotch off the table and head back for the door. “Fine, you stay in here then. It is only my own room after all, so what the hell say do I have?” I sneer and head back out of the door.
I open the bottle of scotch and take several heavy drinks of it as I walk down the hallway. I can feel Tommaso following me and I swing back around.
“You take one more fucking step, and I’ll fucking kill you right here and now. I’m not in the bloody mood!” I snarl and snap at him like my jaws are that of a ravenous animal.
Tommaso puts his hands up, but his eyes darken. “I will find you, and you will talk to me.” His threat sends a shiver up my spine and I fight that feeling back.
“Go ahead and try to make me,” I spit at him before taking another drink and turning down the hallway.
This time, he doesn’t follow me.
My head is fuzzy, dizzy—just like I need it. Everything is floating all around me, and the bottle of scotch is nearly empty. I’m leaning against a wall in the underground, still in the damn black outfit. It’s too tight, too warm. I need to get it off, but that would mean going back to my room.
Perhaps Tommaso has given up on finding me now. Through the maze that is the tunnels I head back to my bedroom one woozy step at a time.
The taste of alcohol is fresh in my mouth and permeates every single inch of me. I can hardly smell the dank musty smell of the hallways.
I brush a hand through my long hair, having lost the hat that was covering it somewhere in the tunnels, and push open my bedroom door again. Expecting nothing but four concrete walls and my bag of clothing.
Instead, I see him sitting there.
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” I breath out.
“Did you think I was goin’ anywhere?” Tommaso asks me as he pushes up from the bed.
I growl and smash the near empty bottle on the side of the table, leaving just the neck of the bottle with a jagged sharp edge in my hand.
“I’ll fucking kill you if you come at me with that,” he tells me, his eyes burning holes into my head as his hands clench into fists.
“I’m not here to play games,” he insists.
I let go of the bottle neck and it clatters to the floor. I’m not usually so hot headed. When I’m sober.
“I’m not here for you,” I reply, my words slurring.
“Look at you, you’re a fuckin’ mess,” he motions toward me. “You’re who’s supposed to get me information on the Bianchis?”
I step to the side, set my gun down, and start to pull off my shirt, revealing a thin and scarred torso that’s glistening with sweat. I sigh at the cool air rushing around my body.
“I came here to change, I’m going to,” I tell him, wobbling a bit on my feet.
Tommaso grabs my shirt from my hand and tosses it to the floor in irritation.
“All I need from you is to know what the Bianchis are planning. Where they have their men stationed. If they have any moles in our family,” Tommaso explains.
I start to undo my pants. I’m not embarrassed even in the slightest. Even as his eyes shift down to watch my hands for a split second.
“For fucks sake, keep your clothing on!” he growls at me in return. “Or can’t you? Are you too drunk to even understand what you’re doing?”
“I’m not too drunk for anything,” I tell him, my slurring doesn’t exactly help me.
Suddenly, Tommaso grabs me by the shoulders and slams me against the wall beside the door. The cold concrete wall is hard and harsh against the back of my shoulders.
“You’re hopeless. How can you even do your job?” he asks me with a strangled laugh. “I can’t believe they sent me to you.”
I reach up and grab him by the throat. His neck thick and tattooed.
