#domint

dom has no intentions of stopping by the wake later. another day, another wake. it's starting to sound like a joke. another day, another dollar. now that's a real phrase because money doesn't stop moving just because bodies do. the crumpled napkin fluttered out of his pocket not even fifteen minutes ago, landing on the passenger seat like a little feather. OWED: TWO TOES - $500 scrawled across it in his own writing. rushed, jagged and definitely scribbled in fury. and just like that, it all comes back in one clear hit.

two weeks ago. a shitty backroom bar and a poker game he and roxy were certain they could hustle. two toes, the sniveling bastard with a slick back head of greasy hair and a mouth too big for his face. a low level con who makes a living fleecing drunk tourists. but somehow this tippy two step two toed motherfucker managed to rob the rose siblings blind. and now dom is seething about it. this isn't a saint's collection. has nothing to do with business or the gang. this is personal.

he texted roxy immediately, and now he's pulled up outside, drumming his fingers on the wheel, waiting for her to hop in. as soon as she does, he doesn't waste a second. 'alright, here's how it goes. nice and fuckin' easy.' always his famous last words, but dom still says them with conviction. he yanks the car from the curb with force, the tires screeching, the wheel jerking under his grip as he narrowly avoids swinging into the opposite lane. the horns blaring don't faze him, and he doesn't even throw up a middle finger. the window's already down, so it's his gun that's always sitting on his lap that's pointed straight at the grieved driver while passing. the horns stop then.