twatdealerfromdalehead:

itsmirallegro were you the lovely lady who talked about mobster Finn to an ask? Are you reading my mind, hm? Because I’ve also been thinking about that.

~.~.~.~.~

Finn shut his eyes and heaved a great breath. The three of them had been here almost an hour, and absolutely fuck all was happening. Chop was beating a loose piece of road against the curb, and Finn got lost in the repetitive beat. It echoed in his mind until all he could do was listen and stare at nothing.

“Finn. Jesus Christ, mate. Snap out of it.” Finn blinked away the unfocused image of buildings as the sound cut out almost violently from his head. He looked at Chop’s wrinkled, slightly dirty suit and smiled.

“Right, sorry. Just zoned out.”

“Alright, well your dad called. We’re done.”

Finn blinked once more in confusion and set his mouth in an annoyed moue, “We’ve been here hours. What happened?”

“I dunno, mate. I’m sure we’ll see soon enough, eh?” Chop shrugged into his leather jacket and flipped the collar up, against the biting cold wind that would sting their skin as soon as they left the glass enclosure. Finn sighed and wrapped his scarf; twisting into the action as he looked for Archie behind him. The brunette was slouched in a hard, plastic lawn chair, his face propped up uncomfortably on his hand. Finn could almost picture the sore pain his friend would feel, and stepped forward to wake him.

“Arch, get up, mate. We’re finished up here.”

The other man jolted to action as Finn shook his limp shoulder. “Wha say?” Finn laughed loudly and repeated himself before moving toward the exit. Chop stood next to the door, leaning back against the unforgiving bricks and smoking a cigarette. He chuckled when Finn looked over and gestured it to him.

“Warms you from the inside out, eh?”

Finn laughed under his breath and unlocked the Jag, scooting in and shutting the door quickly. He turned the heat on full blast and rubbed his hands together as he waited for his friends. If his father had indeed gotten what he wanted; it was going to be quite the long night.

~.~.~.~.~.~

Finn flinched at the sound of another punch reverberating around the small, concrete room. Fist hitting flesh over and over, the blood from the man’s face adding a slick sort of smacking quality. He looked away as the cowering, pathetic little man coughed loudly and began to cry harder. Finn’s father rose his hand up in the air and Karlof let the man drop, falling to his knees and curling into the fetal position.

“Thank you, Karlof. Let’s give him some time to think about it. I’d like a moment alone with my son.”

The lackey just nodded and walked out the door without his victim. Finn looked at his father in confusion, and the older man sighed. He closed his eyes and rubbed them before focusing on Finn with his sharp gaze.

“You are uncomfortable.”

Finn let out a surprised grunt and blinked, “What are you talking about?”

“Son, don’t try to deny it. I watch you flinch and look away and rush for the exit. Why does it bother you so much?”

Finn gaped at his dad and let the tortured sound of a weeping, bloody, half-dead man fill the empty space between them. His father sighed again and placed his big hands on Finn’s shoulders; the heavy weight of them digging into Finn’s flesh.

“I’m expecting you to be ready for this soon. What I do. What you’re supposed to do. How everyone else does their job. You have to know what to do when the time comes.” Finn’s body flooded with shame and he looked away from the tired man in front of him. “I understand.”

“Good. Now,” his father grasped his shoulders painfully before letting go, “suck it up and act as if you actually want to run this outfit.”

Finn just nodded and waited for his father to clear his throat, signalling for his son to leave. Finn zoomed out of there and breathed deeply in the corridor; fresh air from an open warehouse filling his lungs. He wanted to close his eyes and enjoy it, but knew that Carlos’ beating would be playing on the insides of his eyelids for a while. If the fucking moron had just kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t have to be beaten within an inch of his life. And, in all honesty, probably tortured until they finally got the truth out of him. The only thing to do after that was kill him. His father was always a fan of brute force doing the job.

As the screams started up again; Finn shook off the filth of the room that clung to him and blackened his heart. He began playing the song Chop’s stone had created earlier that day on repeat in his head. He started humming it loudly to drown out what was, most likely, Karlof breaking the fingers of a person Finn would miss.

As he flung open the metal door, he welcomed the wind that blew harshly against his ears. It drowned out everything until all he heard was the rapid beating of his heart and Chop’s song as he tried not to think of the way they’d kill his friend of ten years.

He hated his fucking life.

YES! I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned (on more than one occasion) that I’d love to read a fic where Finn is the son of a mob boss. Or maybe it was that Nico played the son of a mob boss. Anyway, it’s the same thing. This was brilliant, Audrey. I love how hesitant Finn is about it all. Like he’s stuck in a life he doesn’t want, but he has no way out of it. I love it I love I love it. Thank you for this!