The Spitfire

Chapter 7: Prince Of The City

In one week, Mouth has managed to alienate most of her co-workers, except the guys. They, of course, loved her, the girls, not so much.

I got more complaints in the last few days than in the whole time I'd had this place. There was name-calling, put-downs, and what some called just plain rude.

To hear it from the guys behind the bar and the kitchen staff, it was a different story. They couldn't sing her praises enough, and beyond that, two things.

The customers loved the s**t out of her, both men and women, and she was a f*****g selling machine.

She sold more top-shelf s**t in one night than most of my girls sold in a week. She was making money for my place, and as evidenced by the tips on her credit card slips, she wasn't doing too bad herself.

So my conclusion: jealousy.

Don't get me wrong. I know Mouth is a pain in the ass. I heard her ask Vivienne if she was dropped on her head at birth because apparently one of Vivienne's regulars decided he wanted to sit in Mouth's section one night, and Vivienne thought she should still get to take him. He was a big tipper, apparently.

The busboys all had her back, they snitched to me about some of the s**t that some of the others tried to pull on her, but my girl didn't take anybody's s**t as they all soon found out.

Teresa was the worst complainant of the bunch, nothing Ari did seem good enough for her ass, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.

I was ready to tell all of them to leave me the f**k alone because I wasn't getting rid of her no matter what the f**k they said.

The only one not complaining was Mouth; she never said s**t to me about anything. Stubborn as s**t.

Tommy said she was the easiest job he had. He was bored already.

She went to school, came home, went to work, and came home. What the f**k he did while she was in class was anybody's guess. As long as he kept her safe and out of trouble, I could give a f**k.

Tonight I'm sitting in the V.I.P lounge. There're a few other tables in there that I let some of my closer acquaintances use from time to time. I didn't sit with those f***s, though. When I was in my place, I sat with my crew so I could keep an eye on s**t.

That fucker James Foster was in my place tonight, which meant I had to be on my mother f*****g Ps and Qs. That f**k was crazy on a good day and homicidal on the rest.

He also fancied himself a pretty boy and a lady's man. I guess there were no mirrors in his f****d up world.

I should've known there was going to be trouble when I saw Ari coming up to the lounge to go to their table. Now James was no acquaintance of mine, but his boss Jonathan was cool people. Some of my other associates didn't like dealing with him because of the color of his skin asked me how I could do business with him. I told them because the only color I saw was motherfucking green, bigoted f***s.

Mouth isn't supposed to work the lounge. Only seasoned workers worked this section. You had to earn that privilege, so why the f**k was Teresa sending her up here to Foster's table no less?

The first time she went to the table, I held my f*****g breath like a little b***h.

Things seemed to go well, she walked away to go fill their orders, and they were laughing and joking, all except Jonathan, who wasn't looking too happy, I couldn't hear what the f***s were saying from two tables over, but I saw the looks.

That fucker James was licking his lips like he was at a meal while watching her ass in her black mini skirt. Try it and die mother- fucker.

My boys sensed my tension and went on alert, I didn't know what the f**k was about to go down, but I was ready for whatever the f**k jumped off.

She came back with a tray of drinks.

I saw his intent before he put thought into action and was out of my chair in a flash, a bottle of Dom in hand, he grabbed her ass, and I brought the bottle down across the back of his mother-f*****g head.

Mikey and Tony were there before I could follow through.

I looked at Jonathan.

"He never steps foot in my mother- f*****g place again."

I grabbed her hand, gave my boys orders to clean up this s**t, and throw that f**k out back with the rest of the trash.

"Slow your roll there, Nicky Scarfo." she tried to free her hand, but I just kept going.

"What did I tell you about that s**t?"

"Hey, that's not from the Godfather; he's a whole other breed of crazy."

"Shut up, Mouth, before I shut you up."

"Make me."

So I did, right there in the middle of my motherfucking club for the whole world to see. I picked her little ass up and kissed the f**k outta her. That oughta keep her ass quiet for two seconds.