Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Challenges listed at the bottom.
Word Count: 872
AN: Mob!AU
Every Inch The Boss
Tom stepped out of the hospital room glaring fiercely. He didn't even need to say anything, he simply glared and waited. He looked every inch the mob boss he was.
"We didn't know it was him," Rosier said, eyes on the floor. "We asked for a name and he wouldn't give one. He matched the description we were given. We didn't know it was him until after."
"Hmm. I really wish you hadn't done that," Tom said quietly. "Since the only real rule I've given any of you is that Harry is to be protected at all costs."
"We're sorry, boss," Macnair said.
Tom stayed silent for a long moment, and then said, "Go to the warehouse and inform Rabastan what has happened, and then wait there."
Rosier opened his mouth to ask how long they were supposed to wait, but Macnair elbowed him roughly, and the two left silently. Tom ran a hand through his hair and stepped back into the room.
Harry looked so small in the hospital bed, but the bruising on his face and neck—the only parts of him not covered by blankets—was enough to make Tom murderous.
Fucking idiots. What use was it being a mob boss if he couldn't get the minions to actually do their jobs instead of attacking the only thing Tom actually cared about?
He sat down in the seat beside the bed and pulled his phone from his pocket. He conferred quietly with Rabastan about what had happened to Harry, and told him that he'd sent the idiots his way.
Tom would return when he knew that Harry was okay, but until then, Rabastan was in charge.
The note of pleasure in Rabastan's voice told Tom that the man wouldn't let him down in the beginning of the punishment Rosier and Macnair would receive for hurting Harry.
It was no less than the two deserved.
Harry shifted on the bed, groaning slightly as he opened his eyes. "Tom?"
"I'm here, sweetheart," Tom murmured. "You're okay."
"What happened?"
"You were attacked while you were at the market," Tom replied, stroking a careful hand over Harry's head. "Nothing is broken, but you're probably going to ache for a few weeks, the bruising is quite extensive."
"Can I come home?"
"I'll go and fetch a doctor," Tom promised. He pressed the softest kiss to the corner of Harry's mouth—one of the few places he wasn't hurt—and then left the room.
He knew that they would want to keep him overnight, but Tom was nothing if not persuasive, and if Harry wanted to be at home, then that was what he would get.
…
Tom swept through the warehouse. He hadn't managed to get there the previous night; the doctors had eventually released Harry into his care, and he hadn't wanted to leave him alone.
"Where are they?" he demanded, as soon as Rabastan approached.
He was led to an unused room at the back of the warehouse by his second in command, and he smiled when he saw the mess that had already been made of the two men who'd attacked his Harry.
"Bellatrix?" he asked Rabastan, who nodded.
"When I told her who they'd attacked, she demanded to be allowed to 'help' deal with them. You know how protective she is over Harry."
Tom nodded, because he did. He often wondered where Bellatrix would sit if he hurt Harry himself—not that he ever would—given the soft spot she held for the younger man.
Tom kicked at the legs of the two men until they woke up, groaning.
"Boss," Rosier gasped. "Boss, we're sorry. Please don't kill us."
Tom wrinkled his nose. "Pathetic," he murmured. "What use are you to me if you cannot even avoid my Harry? What could you possibly give me to stop me from putting a bullet between your eyes right now?"
There was no reply beyond a whimper.
"That's what I thought," Tom agreed. He pulled the gun from his pocket and shot Rosier, and then Macnair, though he didn't aim for the eyes. Instead, he shot them both in the chest; fatal wounds, but wounds that would take a few moments to bleed out.
They deserved to feel the pain.
…
"Tom?"
Tom looked up from his paperwork to see Harry gingerly walking across the room towards him. He'd spent the day in bed, but Tom had known it wouldn't last long.
He never could keep still.
Tom lifted his arm so Harry could sit beside him and bury his face against his neck the way he often loved to do. Except Harry had paused, staring at his collar.
"There's blood on your collar," he murmured, frowning.
Tom wrinkled his nose. "I had a nose bleed earlier," he said softly. "I thought I'd caught it in time, but obviously not."
"Are you okay?" Harry asked, pressing in close.
"I'm fine. Perhaps a little stressed about what happened to you," Tom hedged, tightening his grip slightly. "I always want you to be safe, Harry."
"I feel safe with you. These things happen, Tom. It's not your fault."
Tom hummed softly. He knew differently, but since Harry knew nothing about Tom's actual work, he kept schtum.
It was better that way.
