The Burrow
Summary: The East side is ruled by a newly established family. Brought to prominence by accident, respected only as much is needed. Kings, in their territory, lovingly labeled the Red Turf. But to the others? The older families? The Weasley’s are expected to fall back to their rightful place. Sooner rather than later, the moment an opportunity arises...
A Tale of East and West
warnings: Mafia/Mob AU, mentions of violence/mob activity, blood
Slight George Weasley x reader if you squint
-------------
“About time. We were wondering where you’d got to.”
“Sorry Bill, Won’t happen again.” George mutters, eyes on the table as rounds the room to pull out his chair. Seven pairs of eyes are heavy on his shoulders, and he’d rather not share who what held him up, but luckily he’s used to the weight. And judging by the fresh scratches on Charlie’s face, George won’t bare the burden much longer. Still, it’s tense as he fixes his jacket and sits down, the polished cherry duplicating his sister’s weary look. She’s usually quite composed, a bystander to Bill’s lethal brotherly lectures. But she’s fucked up, the cost of whatever mishap she’s made gouged into Charlie’s chin. George keeps his composure cool, shifting forward to match his twin. “What have I missed?”
“Problem in the East Docks.” Fred answers, smirking while he adjusts the leaf between his lips. George watches the smoke curl above his head before plucking the cig from Fred to snuff it in his Scotch. He ignores his brother’s huff, turning to the head of the table. “Personal?”
“What do you think?” Charlie growls, jutting to the blood staining his cheek.
“It appears the ferret’s gotten bold.” Bill leans back in his seat with a slow exhale, fiddling with his pinky ring before pushing out of his chair. The pleats of his maroon waistcoat flex as he walks, meticulously uncuffing his sleeves on the way. “Decided he can attack our own blood on Red turf.”
George squints as Bill stops in front of the bay window, the sunlight reflecting off his rings and earrings. “And what the fuck made him think he could do that? We’ve kept it tight Bill.” Ron snaps, shifting in his own seat to escape the sunset’s glare.
George’s eyes find her before Bill’s hands land on her shoulders, taught despite what they all know is a gentle hold. Although Ginny raises a call for doubt, her own stare trained on her lap, lower lip flushed rosey from her nibbling. Bill bends down till his nose bumps her ear, the intimidation washing over the boardroom. “Yes, tell us, Gin. What the fuck made him think he could do that?”