Chapter Text
This is what you deserve. You accepted it with poise, your head refusing to drop even now in your darkest hour. He was by no means a prize, and possessed few traits that weren’t superficial that you found yourself appreciating. There wasn’t one single admirable quality about him except for his honesty, which only came at the event of telling you things you didn’t necessarily want to hear.
But that is what you deserved.
You did dirty work. Granted, not dirtier work than him, but you were no saint by anyone’s definition. Although often referred to by your uncle, and technically boss, as an angel, you felt like anything but. You were what they called a dispatcher , one whose business was to assign jobs to members of the Syndicate, and your uncle was the big man. While those jobs were often heists or hits, you yourself were safe in your position. Your uncle would see to it that anyone that set a hair on your head out of place would no longer have hands, and you made sure to follow the only real rule that mattered most: don’t ask questions.
Questions got you hurt.
The wrong question for the wrong person got you killed.
Toji wasn’t afraid to look you square in the eye and ask questions like everyone else was, and for good reason. You were the niece, damn near daughter, of the man in charge. Questioning you would be similar to questioning him, which was cardinal sin number one. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, the edges plagued with desilvering, you thought back to the first time he asked you a question.
“Can’t he get someone else?”
Admittedly you were caught off guard for a number of reasons. Usually when you assign a job, conversation is barely had. You’d hand off a sealed envelope with details and a little petty cash needed to get the job done, and then be on your way. Once in a blue moon there’d be a comment or two regarding time frame, maybe even someone saying the difficulty or risk involved called for a bigger payout. Fine with you. These jobs were dangerous, and high risk should always call for high reward. That much made sense.
But a hired hand asking for a skip made none, and was also highly disrespectful. This wasn’t fucking Walmart, he couldn’t just ask to swap shifts with a co-worker.
“Excuse you?”
“Previous engagement; my hands are a little tied at the moment.” His response was smug but that came at zero surprise; when wasn’t he? It was that smugness that never failed to incense you, and it was especially maddening because he earned the right to be that way. His reputation spoke volumes.
“My suggestion is you untie them.”
“Even if I’m busy with another job?”
“Do you think He would have assigned this to you if you couldn’t manage both simultaneously?”
“Well-“
“-Are you saying He made the mistake of thinking you were capable of juggling? Did my uncle misjudge you, Fushiguro?”
He sighed and took two steps forward before swiping the envelope from your manicured hand. “Too much to ask for some me time?”
“We don’t offer PTO for you to cash in when you want. You want an off day, leave and don’t look back.”
“Sir, yes sir,” he mocked with the laziest, sloppiest excuse for a salute you’ve ever seen. Disrespectful as ever, true to fashion. Truthfully speaking, if it wasn’t for him being so, so, so goddamn good at his job, Toji Fushiguro would have met his maker forever ago. Hell, you even tried convincing yourself that you woulda been fine making him your one and only kill, but let’s face it, you weren’t cut out for that side of the family business. He’d have to meet his end at the hands of another. His insolence didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, but the fact he was still able to draw air was a painful reminder that even the underground had a boys club. In a business where even the slightest hint of disrespect could cost you an eye, strength and power could keep you safe, and Toji Fushiguro was amongst the strongest, making him also one of the most powerful. So much so that even your uncle could wave off that mouth of his, even at times with a laugh. Which meant the rest of the Syndicate was to follow suit whether you all cared to or not. “You should let loose once in a while; working too hard ages a woman.”
“And what does it do to a man?”
“Gets him paid.” Without another word or a chance for your rebuttal, he turned on his heels and casually strolled out of your office. He always had a knack for leaving a bad taste in your mouth after each assignment. Metallic, like blood. Probably from biting your tongue so hard to avoid behaving in any way less than what was expected of organized crime royalty. You weren’t the princess; that role was reserved for your two close cousins, your uncle’s daughters, who had no idea exactly how daddy earned his keep. As the oldest of the bunch and the only child of your late dad, you inherited your titles from him after his passing. You were now sitting at his desk, swaying side to side in the same cushioned leather chair he once sat perched in. At some point it crossed your mind to redecorate, make this place yours to create a name for yourself and shake the weight of just being the proverbial golden child, but what was the point? There was no escaping the wide shadow cast by your father or his legacy. Eventually you stopped looking at it as some unachievable expectation to live up to, but a goal to strive to meet.
Maybe even something to surpass.
Would your father be proud of the company you chose to keep at the lonely hour? He shielded you from this life to the best of his ability, but you have an unstoppable persistence and always fed your curiosity ‘til it burst at the seams. He wanted the white picket fence life for you with the golden retriever, plump cherub children playing happily in the yard, and a husband whose sun would rise and set with you. An honest man that earned an honest living. Whatever man was the polar opposite of Toji fucking Fushiguro.
But Toji and others just like him are exactly what you deserve, not whatever rendition of a family-friendly sitcom your dad had mapped out for you. You went over to the rickety night table and reached for the brown paper bag sheathing an unopened bottle of Burnett’s, immediately twisting off the cap to pour around two and a half shots in a red plastic cup. The warm temp of the alcohol did nothing to quell the burn as you swallowed, the searing a feeling you welcomed at times as such. The rawness you felt in your throat distracted your mind briefly until those familiar five taps on the window of Lantern Hill Motel room 418 alerted you. Organized crime within a sleazy motel was typical Tuesday evening behavior, but again, you are not typical. You are royalty. Whatever freedoms came with being the crowned niece of the boss, however, didn’t protect even you from casually fucking a member of the Syndicate. While there were definitely some associates that wouldn’t have garnered immediate disgust if word got around, Toji was not on that list. You shuddered just at the thought of your uncle finding out, and any idea of what he’d do to Toji was more than convincing enough to keep you creeping around the slums of the city in the dead of night for hookups. You sat your cup and the now capped bottle of vodka on the shitty bedside table before making your way to the door of the motel room, unlocking it and stepping to the side.
“Well hello there, sunshine.” He spoke with such sarcasm as he bypassed you to enter the room. You did your standard paranoid scanning outside to check for unwanted spectators before closing and locking the door. “You drinkin’ this peach shit again?”
You sigh, closing your eyes for one last moment of peace within yourself before turning to the man who seemingly made it his life’s mission to disturb that peace at all costs.
You remind yourself once again: you deserve this.