The passenger, obscured by the tinted window was not revealed until the car door opened and a woman dressed in a black, dramatic floor-length dress emerged; a long, tired sigh then escaped the consigliere upon realizing who it was and he held her gaze as she approached.
“Lisabetta Biondi,” the name was spoken with a tone of weariness and Abel looked as though he’d just aged ten years after exchanging just a few words. Lisabetta was a journalist, one of many that the family has paid to help manage their public presence, but the consigliere never did like the press, therefore, he didn’t like her as well.
But it didn’t matter what he thought of her, she was persistent, even when he tried to keep the woman at arm’s length that an odd relationship had unwillingly formed between the two.
“I got time to kill,” he told her plainly before Abel helped himself to another lungful of nicotine. Lisabetta was an odd one, and while she presented herself as nothing more than being a writer, there had been instances where he couldn’t help but think that there was more to her. He had no proof of course, and digging around would require being in close proximity with her which he did not want.
Relaxing from his stance, the consigliere pressed his back against the car that he drove while blue eyes swept over the ridiculous outfit that she had on.
“Should I ask what the gown is for or am I better off not knowing?”
Sweet sweet Abel. How tired he looked now in front of her. Why she could see the bags under his eyes now that she was less than a foot away. Mere inches if she wanted to say they were chummy, which they were. If chummy meant that she enjoyed playing games around him and seeing if Abel could pick up on what she was in fact playing. So far he was zero for - What was it now? Twenty? Thirty? Surely not ten? Eh. Somewhere in the ball park of ten to infinity. He never stood a chance though.
Abel was the smart one in the cracked egg basket known as Costello. Not brilliant. Not a halfwit like others that shared his DNA and certainly not nuisance. Lisabetta was not good at her job she was the best. If and that is a big if, Abel puts two and two together she’ll pour him a drink herself. He was too pretty to kill outright. Too valuable. He was useful and her line of work liked someone who was useful. So did her family. Such a shame he was almost loyal to a fault. That family should have stopped procreating at two. His uncle would have had one less degenerate to dress and pass off as upper elite. She supposed the family no longer had to worry about that. Actually, it was the uncle that didn’t since he kicked the can more gruesome than Americans at a bottomless buffet. One could lose a hand if it got too close to another or lingered too long over the drumsticks.
One less man inhabiting the world never hurt.
Her hand swept across her body in a flourished motion. A gesture she drew out like the words she spoke, “I’m in mourning.” An answer without actually revealing anything at all. Dramatic Lisabetta was but it always had flourish and a purpose. That is more than can be said for others who clung used the flare for dramatics to just throw a tantrum. Drama was for the theater and her. Anyone else and it was attention seeking. She retrieved from a hidden pocket in the layers of her tulle dress. It was a task that should not have been possible but Lisabetta was adept at hiding things in the most precarious of places, a head piece that matched her ensemble.
Heaven forbid she walk in there without it so she placed it upon her head.
“It is not just time you’re looking to kill.” Perfectly manicured hands point towards the cigarette kissing his lips like that of a lover. “Nasty habit. Even worse stench to get out of clothes. Have you tried getting it out of a Gucci jacquard suit? It is awful. Almost had to chuck the poor thing. Almost.”
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