Chapter Eight: Maroni Knows

A/N: TRIGGER WARNING: There's a very graphic, very disturbing scene in this chapter that all should be aware of (between my main character and another OC). If you have ever experienced sexual assault and/or rape and are triggered by such scenes, I request and encourage you to bypass the scene (you'll know when it's coming). Of note, I do not condone rape as it is illegal, and I find it repulsive. It was placed in my story for character development of both my OC and Oswald and for future plot purposes. Read at your own discretion. (For what it's worth, Sylvia gets revenge in the same chapter.)


Cracking eggs over a pan…. the sound of bacon sizzling…. the smell of buttery, flaky biscuits baking in the oven.

Breakfast was no doubt my favorite time of the day, especially first thing in the morning. It was close to eight o'clock. I was dressed for work in a knee-high black skirt and a red-long sleeve shirt. I woke up in such a wonderful mood, I had even taken it upon myself to wear three-inch heels—I doubted I would be running anywhere at work.

Shania Twain's 'Man! I Feel Like A Woman' was playing on the stereo and I wiggled my hips to the extra dancy parts while being careful not to flip the bacon into the ceiling. In the bathroom, I heard the shower turn on; Oswald must have woken up.

I started really getting into the song and when I flung my egg out the window, I had to stop and put my priorities back in order while I giggled, turning off the stove.

Oswald came into the kitchen, looking at me oddly.

"You're never this happy in the morning," Oswald noted, standing next to the table.

I turned off the stereo via the remote, sitting the latter on the counter and grinned widely at him. His suspicious remarks made me chuckle.

I placed a plate of breakfast in front of him.

"Milk or orange juice?"

"Either one," Oswald muttered, sitting down.

I placed a glass of milk in front of him while I sat at the table as well.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"No," I returned, smiling. "I've already eaten."

"When did you get up?"

"I've been up for a while."

Oswald looked at me curiously, saying, "I didn't even hear you come to bed last night."

"No, you didn't. I visited a friend at the GCPD and then came home shortly after. I didn't want to disturb you, so I slept on the couch."

"'Friend'?"

"I gave him some friendly advice on how to get his lady crush to notice him," I explained, sitting back in my seat. "He's been pining after this records custodian for a while now. I figured I'd help the love blossoms bloom quicker than later."

Oswald ate a bite of pancakes, listening to me.

"What do you get out of it?" He questioned.

"Get out of what?"

"What do you get in exchange for helping this friend of yours?" He clarified.

"It's like you told Jim, honey. Friends don't owe favors. They help each other out because they're friends." I reminded. "Edward is a shy type. He works in Forensics, deals with a lot of the nitty gritty. Doesn't have many friends. The police officers regard him as a loser, but I think there's more to him than what meets the eye."

I added as an afterthought while smiling at Oswald, "Reminds me of you, actually."

He glanced up at me pointedly. But I didn't elaborate.

I rounded to the counter and collected myself a cup of coffee, pouring milk halfway to the brim and added a shot of expresso, then returned to my seat.

"By the way," I said conversationally. "Jim says 'thank you'."

Oswald ate a bite of egg: "For what?"

"For finding the stuff your guy found on Flass. You sent Gabe, didn't you?"

"Well, I had no other person to send seeing as you had other plans, remember?" Oswald reminded calmly. Then with a spark of anticipation, he asked, "But it did help?"

"Yes," I confirmed, ignoring the first comment. "Flass was arrested. It was pretty dramatic how it went down, but none the less, he is behind bars. I wouldn't hold your breath though. He is highly connected. He'll get a slap on the wrist, some months in prison—and it won't be Blackgate."

I took a sip of my coffee.

Fucking Christ—IT'S HOT LAVA!

I pursed my lips, swirling the hot coffee in my mouth—luckily, it cooled down a few degrees before it burned my throat on the way down. Oswald snickered when I coughed, my eyes watering.

When I continued to cough, he grew worried.

"Are you okay?" Oswald asked.

I took a napkin from the center of the table and wiped my mouth.

"Fine," I said weakly.

My face faded back to its original color instead of purple-red. When he was certain that I was all right, he glanced at my overall appearance.

"Are you going to the restaurant?" Oswald asked.

"Yes. I have to rearrange the schedules. Billy wants Thanksgiving off."

"And that requires a one-on-one meeting?"

"If you don't think so, you don't know your staff members very well, Mr. Cobblepot," I teased, smiling so. I stood to my feet, smoothed down my skirt, and poured the rest of the hot lava in the sink.

I motioned to his empty plate: "Finished?"

"Quite."

I took it and placed it in the sink, and started scrubbing dishes. I felt his hands on my shoulders, and I startled, only realizing then that he stood behind me. He ignored my flinching movement and ran his hands down my back, circling them around my hips. One of his arms wrapped around me; I felt him pull my shirt a little ways away so he could kiss my shoulder, his soft lips touching the exposed skin.

"Trying to start something?" I asked knowingly.

"What do you think?"

"I think you are up to no good. Is this going to be part of the morning routine?"

Oswald stated in a tone of matter-of-fact, "I would have done this last night but you never came to bed."

I continued washing dishes, pretending that I couldn't feel his hands lightly grazing up my sides and back down. Pretending that I didn't feel his fingers slipping under my shirt and doing the same, caressing my breasts over the material of my bra. I heard him sigh in my ear, his breath on my skin made the heat rise in my face.

Wash these damn dishes, girl—

He lifted one of my breasts out of the bra cup and kneaded its hardened nipple between his fingers.

"Someone's horny, isn't he?" I taunted while I tried to ignore the growing ache between my legs than I knew only he would be able to relieve.

"You wore a skirt and heels first thing in the morning," Oswald told me huskily, "how do you expect me to respond?"

"I didn't realize that was a quick turn-on for you. Maybe, I should wear them more often."

His hand continued to play with my nipple, rolling it between his fingers. I stifled the moan that dared to slip out. With his free hand, he pushed all of my hair to the opposite shoulder so he could press his lips against my neck. His hips pushed against mine, and I felt his erection nudge between the back of my thighs; then he did it again, and again, starting a slow grind between them; inadvertently, I started spreading my legs; my attention divided from the dishes and refocused on every kiss he planted on my neck, one hand caressing my breast, the other digging into my hip to keep me in place.

The neglected running water from the sink faucet only seemed to reaffirm what he already knew: Oswald had me in the palm of his hand.

But he was in the palm of mine too. I shoved my ass against him, and he groaned, confirming my mischievous suspicions.

His hand that had been teasing my breast dropped to the hem of my skirt, hiking it up above my waist. He leaned forward, pinning my body between his and the counter.

He grabbed my hair and yanked it to the right so my head craned to the left; he looked at me with dilated eyes.

"You enjoy being teased, don't you, Pet?" Oswald's lustful tones spoke volumes in my ear, and his shallow breaths made a pleasurable chill run down my back and tease my loins.

When I didn't respond, he pulled my hair even harder.

"Yes, yes, I do!" I gasped, wincing in pain.

His lips turned upward into a smug grin. He let go of my hair and placed his hand around my neck, his thumb stroking my throat; the other slipped between my legs, the pads of his fingers rubbing circles over the front of my panties.

"Oswald, I—"

"Hush."

I bit my bottom lip gingerly when he nudged his fingers into the fabric, teasing my wet pussy with the possibility of entry. He still kept me pinned between himself and the sink.

"Oz…."

"I said 'hush'," His voice more commanding than before.

"But…."

"I won't say it again," He warned. "Now, turn around."

He lowered his hands so that I could do what I was told. I was ready to smart off, to retort with some type of asinine response but the comment was lost on me when I met his eyes. They were brilliantly bright, and yet, his pupils were full blown. Dilated with lust.

"I love you, Sylvia." He said gently.

"I love you too."

"Good to know. Turn towards me."

While he pulled his pants down just enough for his cock to spring out, his hand moved up my skirt to my panties and pulled them halfway down my legs. I quickly stepped out of them, turned his direction, and then braced myself on the sink when he moved forward. One of my legs lifted, and I placed the crook of my ankle on top of a nearby kitchen chair.

His cock touched the entrance of my pussy, the head nudging teasingly.

"Now who's the horny one," Oswald taunted as he slowly slid his cock into my wet walls.

"You were the one with the hard-on digging against my back earlier," I muttered, smirking.

I kept one hand on the sink, bracing myself up while my other grabbed his shoulder, my nails digging into his suit. His cock pulled out with the head still inside of me before slamming back in; I moaned without restraint, feeling the electric shocks numb my fingers and curl my toes. He had just the right angle to penetrate my G-spot, and oh—my—fucking—god did it feel amazing!

"So wet…." Oswald groaned, his pace quickening.

His hands gripped underneath my thighs, fingertips digging. His eyes closed, his lips parted open in between sexual frustration and an edging climax.

Almost there…

It wouldn't take long.

I could feel it coming.

My thighs trembled; my moans were becoming nothing more than pleasurable cries.

Almost….

"Fucking Christ…." I whimpered, leaning forward as I bit Oswald's shoulder once my orgasm struck home, numbing my brain.

My vaginal walls seized him and the pressure surrounding his cock made Oswald climax. He held me close to him, filling me with his come which only threw me into another moaning mess. We remained there for a few more minutes, panting. He slowly slid out of me and I placed both my feet on the ground, smiling at him.

"Do you feel better?" I asked smugly.

He didn't dignify the question with a response, but a sly smile on his face spoke volumes as he fixed himself. I pulled my panties back up and smoothed out my skirt.

"You do look beautiful," Oswald said, noting my appearance. "Especially in a skirt."

"Thank you."

"You look beautiful in everything," Oswald pointed out, smiling at me shyly.

How was it that he could be dominating and confident one moment and then in the next appear like a school-boy with a crush? It didn't bug me any; in fact, I thought it was adorable as fuck. He touched my shoulder and kissed my cheek.

"You look good too." I said, smirking. "But you might want to be careful with those suits of yours."

"Why?"

"A woman's lingerie to a man is a man's suit to a woman," I said smoothly. I fixed his collar, adding, "I can't tell you how many times I've thought about sneaking into the back of the restaurant so I can fuck you into the wall."

Oswald's eyebrows raised in response to the vivid image he probably got in his mind and I winked at him.

"It's only through sheer will power and self-discipline that I don't."

He took my hands in his.

"You don't have much self-discipline to begin with," He pointed out.

"You're right," I sighed. "But for you, I try to exercise some type of humanity."

Oswald snickered, "Well, you have my utmost appreciation."

I kissed his cheek, and he grinned broadly.

"I do have to go, though," I said, glancing at my watch. "If all goes to plan, Thanksgiving schedules will be a breeze and I won't have to yell at anyone. But the day is young."

"I'll go with you. I'm meeting Don Maroni."

"In your own restaurant—how original. He loves eating there, doesn't he?"

Oswald left the kitchen briefly to get his dress jacket from the wardrobe and he slipped it on gracefully, buttoning it up and looking like the perfect gentleman.

"He prefers my company compared to others, I suppose," He said as he opened the door and allowed me to step out first.

"Well, of course he does—you're his money maker."

We headed to the elevator and he pushed the button for the foyer. The doors closed with a strange shuttering sound and we exchanged glances.

"What is this meeting about, should I ask?" I inquired, stepping off the elevator.

"A check-in," Oswald answered. When I looked at him, confused, he elaborated: "After what happened with Mooney…."

"He'll be happy to know she's gone," I noted as we headed out to the car.

"Elated," Oswald agreed.

Gabe was there, opening the car door for me. Oswald took my hand and I looked at him, perplexed by the sudden movement.

"I think after I finish my business with Maroni," Oswald said thoughtfully, "we should go out for dinner. Just you and me."

"Like a date night?"

Oswald nodded, waiting for my answer.

"Sure." I said, smiling. "Date night sounds fun."

Oswald grinned ear-to-ear: "I'll make the reservations."

I stepped inside the car and Gabe shut my door. Oswald sat in the passenger seat and Gabe, in the driver's chair. I leaned forward between the two.

"Hi, Gabe!" I greeted spontaneously.

"Hello, Miss G."

"How's life treating you?"

"Peachy," Gabe answered in his usual deep voice.

He turned his head to see me and I grinned at him.

"You look nice," He commented.

"Aw, shucks," I said, smirking. "Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself."

"Start the car, Gabe," Oswald ordered.

Gabe did as he was told and he started driving.

I suppressed a grin. I could reassure Oswald all I could about how he was the only man for me, but on the whole, Oswald was just a jealous man. Even though I had no physical, emotional, or any attraction what so ever to Gabe, Oswald still had that possessive edge to his voice. Between Gabe and Oswald, the boss sent him a warning look and Gabe appeared apologetic, but not regretful.

Gabe knew Oswald was possessive of me. And while the former would never do anything to upset the balance between our relationship, Gabe still didn't mind telling me how I looked. And I didn't mind hearing it. It was just two people acknowledging each other, really. And underneath his jealousy, Oswald seemed to understand so he didn't really have to say anything to either of us.

The drive there was short, and Gabe crawled out of the car, opening my door.

"Thank ya, friend. But you don't have to keep opening my door. I can open it myself, you know," I said lightly.

"The boss insists," Gabe said, glancing at Oswald indicatively. "Besides. I don't mind."

"That's sweet."

I walked into the restaurant.

Maroni and a few of his pals were in the dining area, already seated. It was possible that sex in the kitchen had put the meeting on a bit of a delay, but I wasn't complaining. I didn't get very far past Maroni before I heard him say, "Hey! There's my favorite gal! Get over here!"

Crap.

I walked backwards and smiled politely at Maroni.

"You look a lot better since I last saw you in the hospital," Maroni noted. "Let me get a look at you."

I figured he meant my neck since that's where Mike Travinsky had shot me and I tilted my head so he could see it perfectly in the sunlight.

"Healed up nicely, I see," Maroni said, smiling widely. "You're a tough girl, aren't you?"

"Or Mike is just a bad shot—either one."

Maroni found it funny: "You're nothing if not modest, aren't you, Sylvia?"

"Don't I know it.'

"Would you like a drink?" He asked, gesturing to one of his men who looked ready to serve.

"Not right now," I declined politely. "I have a few things to do around the restaurant."

"Sounds like busy work."

"It is. Really boring, but never the less—a necessity to keep the place running well. I hope you don't mind."

"Nah. Where's your lesser half?"

I pointed at Oswald who was coming around the table just as Maroni mentioned him.

"There's my main man, right there—have a seat, Penguin!" He greeted happily.

Fish Mooney's compromise certainly put him in a good mood, didn't it?

As Oswald took a seat, I stepped into the kitchen.

Chef Billy was working his ass off, flipping burgers, boiling lobsters, working up a sweat. He wore white, much like the rest of the staff, but despite the appearance, the uniforms weren't sweat-proof; as evidence, the obese chef had pit stains showing and his neck and back fat weren't far behind. Beside him, six individuals—three men, three women—were washing dishes and scrubbing food off plates. Four waiters would bustle in and out, carrying two plates at a time and then exchanging the dirty ones for cleaner ones.

Water spilled on the floor and was guzzled into the drain; scraps of half-eaten fish sticks and shredded duck piled beside a full trash can. Over the shhhhhhh of running water and loud hissing from the greasy food, I wondered how this place kept running like a well-oiled machine.

"Hey! Look who popped in for a visit!" Chef Billy said loudly, grinning over his shoulder.

His announcement brought home the attention and everyone literally glanced over to see that I was standing in the kitchen.

"You looking better," Greg, one of the most recent hires, said as he rounded the corner and placed another empty dish into the sink.

"Thanks."

Several others mentioned how I looked better since getting out of the hospital. Most of them had been around when Mike shot me. Mitchell, the janitor, walked along the greasy floor and placed his arm candidly around my shoulder.

"How've you been?" He asked, grinning widely. "I've meant to ask you something since you got out."

"Sure, what's that?"

"When are we getting that buffer repaired?" He asked curiously.

"C'mon, Mitch, come off that," Billy the Chef scolded. "That work order isn't going to get through any time soon."

"It's been over a month since she put it in, Bill," Mitchell chided. "I think the repairman—what's his face—has had plenty of time to get it through. Seriously, the floors out there are getting dull, and I'm not gonna be the one who gets blamed for it."

"Robert Farnsworth," corrected Greg. "The repairman's name is Robert Farnsworth."

"Fuck that guy, man," grumbled Mitchell resentfully. "The guy is a lazy prick."

Billy placed the boiling lobsters on a dish and started buttering them, looking over his shoulder.

"He is a prick," Billy agreed, looking at me.

I asked, "What makes him a prick?"

"You've talked to him. Don't you think he's a prick?"

"I spoke with Moe—the plumber—It's been a while since I last spoke to him, being in a coma and what not. The Robert guy was supposed to come by and fix the buffer. Did he say anything to you?"

"He has said plenty," Billy reassured, laughing. "That's for sure."

"He's done shit," Greg scoffed before leaving the kitchen to tend to his patrons.

I looked after him then turned to Bill.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means 'he's done shit'," Mitchell reaffirmed coldly.

"What specifically, though?"

Billy rolled his eyes saying, "When Mitchell brought up the fact that the work order for the buffer has been in for a while, Moe said he ain't in charge of it—that's someone else's job."

"Well, that sounds correct. If I recall, he and I said he would work on the buffer. The only thing he couldn't work on was the sink. Robert should have done that. Speaking of which, did he get them fixed?"

"No—that Robert guy never came—that's why they're saying he has 'done shit'." Billy summarized. "He was s'posed to work on the sinks, but he never showed. He's called twice, saying he'll be here, but he never shows."

"When was he supposed to come? Did he say?"

"Nah—he just never showed. And that's been a couple weeks too."

"So, let me get this straight," I said patiently as I crossed my arms. "You're telling me that while I have been out, nothing has been fixed. Moe hasn't come to fix the buffer. This Robert guy that Moe recommended hasn't come to fix the sinks. When were you all going to let me know?"

Mitchell said pointedly, "We're letting you know now."

I shot him a glare.

Billy smiled apologetically saying, "No offense to you, Sylvia, but the people here don't bring their complaints to you the moment they happen."

"Why is that? Am I not approachable?"

"I think it's a woman thing, to be fair," said Billy. "I told 'em to tell me what's going on—with the sinks and buffer—and then I will let you know. But you haven't been here in a couple of weeks because of your coma, and so far since getting out of it, you didn't ask about it, so I figured it wasn't important to you. So, we've just let things be, and they keep getting worse."

"You're a smart guy, Bill, so I don't want you to be offended at all when I say what I am about to say politely."

He nodded expectantly.

"That is fucking idiotic," I sneered.

Billy frowned: "I thought you were going to say it politely."

"I am being fucking polite."

"Doesn't sound like it."

"That's because I am irritated as shit."

"One could see that."

I sighed in exasperation, throwing my hands up in the air. I took the clipboard from the back of the kitchen door which read all the cleaning duties for the janitors and then smashed over on the sink. Everyone in the kitchen looked at me as I received their undivided attention.

"Everyone, stop what you're doing!" I shouted.

The dishwashers stopped washing dishes, and Billy took the grilling food and placed it to the side, turning to me expectantly. I stepped out and looked at the remaining waitresses that were helping their patrons along.

"All staff members!" I called to the room.

The staff and the customers glanced at me, including Maroni and Oswald, who were talking over a glass of champagne.

"Come to the kitchen." I commanded.

When the waitresses glanced at each other uncertainly, I shouted, "NOW!" They excused themselves and briskly walked to me while Maroni laughed at that. I gathered everyone in the kitchen and looked at them all coldly.

"I should not have to treat you all like children," I berated. "You all know how this shit works. If something breaks, if something doesn't work, you tell me when it happens. You don't wait for it to get worse and then tell me! That is childish!" (I glanced at Billy in particular, who shrugged apathetically). "I do not come to the restaurant every day because I feel like you all can govern yourselves accordingly. If that sounds like something none of you can do anymore, please—I invite you to leave. Right now."

I shot my finger to the door, indicating the exit.

No one left.

"Now," I said with forced calm. "I am about to arrange this holiday's schedule. Other than Billy, who doesn't think they can work Thanksgiving?"

A few people raised their hands.

"Tell me why."

None of them spoke.

I sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

"If you have sick family—like Billy's mother—you can take the holiday off, but you will be working Christmas Day…."

A lot of groans from everyone. I took a long breath in before slowly exhaling.

Patience…. patience….

"It is only fair," I commented patiently. "If you work Thanksgiving, you'll get Christmas Day off. Vice versa. This has been and will always be the restaurant's policy—it didn't change with Lou was in charge, and it will not change while Mr. Cobblepot is in charge. Now, I need a tally of all those working Thanksgiving—so please, raise your hands."

No one raised their hands.

"If you do not decide," I warned, "I will."

A few people raised their hands to work the upcoming holiday.

"Good," I said, forcing a smile. "See what happens when we work together? Things go a lot more smoothly. All right, now those who are working Thanksgiving, you will be working your normal hours…."

"We don't do half-days?" Greg asked curiously.

"You're new here, so I don't expect you to know. But no, we don't."

"That's horse shit," He muttered under his breath.

I ignored his comment and said aloud, "We don't do half-days, people. You get the holiday off—that's more than what most restaurants in Gotham offer. Don't forget you also have your paid-time off to use whenever you like as long as you make sure your shifts are covered during time of absence."

Resentful agreement all around.

"Now," I continued. "I will take care of the work orders still in the system—the sinks, the buffer…."

A ceiling tile suddenly broke from above and clashed down on my right, covering me in insulation. Everyone startled and jumped back, looking at me with dropped jaws and wincing expressions. I brushed the dust from my face, squinting up at the hole above me.

"…. And that," I added.

"Are you okay?" Billy asked.

"Fucking place is falling apart," Mitchell chuckled darkly, glancing up at the hole. "I bet a mouse been eating away up there."

"I'll call an exterminator as well," I said with resolve. "Now…. everyone, please, get back to work. I'll take care of it."

I stood beside Billy, who glanced at me with concern.

"While I find a reliable exterminator," I said calmly, "I need you to be my eyes and ears. If something happens, you tell me—good or bad."

"Sure thing."

"Good man," I thanked him, patting his shoulder.

I held the door open and the waiters and waitresses quickly left to tend to their awaiting patrons. Looking out at the diner, I noticed that Oswald and Maroni were nowhere to be found.

An unpleasant twist in my stomach lurched. I glanced at my phone to see if there were any missed calls or messages, but so far, none.

Stay calm, girl. He and Maroni just probably went to take a walk.

I bit my lip uncertainly.

Oswald knew how protective I was of him, knew how quickly I would think the worst. Would he not have sent me a text or pulled me aside to let me know he was leaving? Then again, Oswald was with Maroni, the big bad guy himself. It wasn't like he was left alone with someone like Fish Mooney, right?

With Fish gone, Falcone would have to fight to keep her territory. Perhaps they….

Went to talk about opportunities? Opportunities were Maroni's thing, and Oswald was an opportunist, well-defined.

I forced myself to calm down. I had to make the schedules, still. Leaving wasn't going to happen for the next hour or so. I figured if I didn't hear from him by then, I would investigate.

Maybe put out a BOLO or whatever the cops did when someone went missing.

I laughed nervously at that.

Talk about an overreaction.

Or….

I glanced at my phone again.

Don't worry, girl. Oswald is a survivor. He can take care of himself. He's the Penguin after all, remember?

Sure…. He can take care of himself.

But Maroni is a big guy. And he's alarmingly suave.

Oh god, my hands are shaking. So nervous….

Just make the schedules quickly. After that, you can call him. Just. Keep. Fucking. Calm. Don't overreact, don't overthink. Just do what you have to do—Oswald would say that, wouldn't he? Just do your job, and leave the worrying to him. He can handle it.

"Sylvia, are you okay?"

I smiled at Billy who was watching me earnestly.

"Just thinking…." I managed distractedly.

"Is that all?" He said, glancing at my trembling hands, one of which was holding my phone so tightly that my nail beds were turning white.

I smiled weakly.

"That's all." I reassured more firmly.

Just about to have a fucking heart attack, that's all.

"Excuse me," I said politely.

I walked into Oswald's office, closing the door behind me. I slunk against the frame. One more glance at the phone and I'll start working on those schedules.

You said one more glance, girl. You're staring at the thing.

"Come on, Oz." I whispered. "Give me a sign you're okay."

The phone's screensaver just stared back at me.

Do I call him?

No…. what if he's having a discussion with Maroni? You can blow his chances if he has to interrupt the conversation just to say he's fine. You don't want to be that girlfriend, do you?

Should I text him?

What if his phone is on silent?

I don't fucking know.

I bit my lip and felt my heart beating faster. Why did I feel like the walls were closing in.

Seriously, you need to chill.

I laughed out loud—not that it made me feel any better. The laugh itself came out shaky and petrified.

I hit number one on the speed dial.

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

"Come on, PICK UP!" I shouted.

Ring, ring, ring, ring…. ring, ring….

Don't be that type of girlfriend, Sylvia. Stop calling him. He'll call you.

"Pick up…." I said loudly. "Pick up, pick up, pick up…. goddamn it why do you have fucking cell phone if you're not going to pick up!"

I stood to my feet.

Fuck the schedules. I would do them later. I'd have to find Oswald.

He never told you where he was going.

"Fuck me!" I groaned.

Maroni knows.

"He doesn't know shit—oh my god, I am talking to myself," I muttered, rubbing my forehead. "Okay…. okay…. Now I know I am overreacting. I'll…. I'll leave a voicemail or something for him to call me back."

He has his phone on silent. That's why he's not answering.

"Of course!" I exclaimed, slapping my forehead. "Of course, it makes sense. Okay…. I'll just send him a text."

I opened up the messages and started one.

'When you get this, please call me.'

I wondered whether or not I should add a smiley face, but then again, this wasn't a cutesy message, this was a 'I am having a panic attack, tell me you're not fucking dead' kind of message. No cute fuckery around here, right now!

So, I sent it as is.

Okay, you sent the message. Now calm the hell down.

I sat in Oswald's chair and pulled the notebook of schedules towards me. If I started some busy work, I could bring myself to do just that: calm down, that is. Even as I stared at the shift markers and the names of all the employees, my mind was buzzing.

The disgusting turning and twisting in my stomach was not helping in the slightest.

Don't you dare look at your phone—ah you bitch….

I looked at my phone, picking it up.

Then I thought, Oh shit…. what if he doesn't have signal?

"Goddamn it…." I muttered. "Goddamn it."

I hadn't thought about that!

More panic. More uncomfortable stomach cartwheels. More trembling.

Jim.

Don't call your brother, he won't help.

"He'll have to." I muttered. "He should know—"

There was a knock on the door.

"Come!" I called out.

The door opened and standing in the doorway was Billy.

"What?" I demanded.

Billy apologetically smiled, holding up the work phone saying, "It's Robert."

"The repairman?" I questioned.

He nodded.

"What does he want?"

"You might want to hear it yourself," Billy stated carefully. "But you're not gonna like it."

"Take a message then."

"He doesn't want to leave a message; he wants to talk to you," Billy explained patiently.

"Then let him know that I will call him back," I remarked strictly. "I'm in the middle of something."

Billy sighed and he answered the phone, looking at me. After a few seconds, he sighed again, saying, "She's not available—she said she will call you back though….no….no, sir, I…. well, that's what she said, I can't help it if you don't want to hear it."

"Give me the goddamn phone," I snarled.

Billy raised his eyebrows and he quickly handed it to me.

"What."

"Is this Sylvia Gordon?"

"Speaking," I said coldly.

"My name is Robert Farnsworth…."

"I'm well aware of who you are, sir," I interrupted curtly. I stood to my feet. "You came highly recommended by a colleague of yours, one named Moe Smith. He talked very highly of you, said you would come and fix the sinks that are still in disrepair. But my staff just informed me that you never appeared. You wasted my staff's time, your time, and what's considerably more important—my time. You got it?"

"I understand your concern—"

"Clearly you don't," I retorted.

"Well, ma'am, I was going to let you know that I plan on arriving at your restaurant in a few hours if you would be available to sign the necessary documentation provided," said Robert calmly.

"I won't be available," I said, glancing up at Billy. "But I will place a member of my staff in my place."

"Ma'am, that won't work."

"Well, it will have to," I responded coldly. "I have a very full schedule. My chef will be able to sign the documents needed. I trust him."

Billy grinned at my comment.

"If that is not going to work," I said sternly, "then I will use another company. You plumbers are a dime a dozen here in Gotham."

There was silence on the other line.

"Fine," Robert whined. It sounded like he was holding back a temper tantrum. "That will be fine. I will be there in a few hours. Acceptable?"

"Yes. Thank you." I said and then I hung up.

I looked at Billy, and handed him the phone. He took it gingerly from my hands, watching me.

"Are you sure you're okay?" asked Billy.

"I'm fine," I lied. "Why do you ask?"

""You were a lot more abrasive on the phone…. more than normal, I mean."

I sat at Oswald's desk, in his chair, and looked at Billy: "I can't stand it when things don't go according to plan—gets me bent out of shape."

Billy stepped towards the desk. "I can see that. You tend to get angry a lot—not just when things don't go according to plan."

I looked up at him.

"You get angry when you're scared," said Billy gently.

"That's nonsense."

"Is it?" Billy chuckled. "You were angry when Mike was trying to get his job back. You were angry when he nearly killed you—you were feisty all the way up to the end."

"Not the end, Bill. I lived. What's your point?"

"You're not just angry to be angry. You're angry because you're anxious. But you're like the most confident, fearless woman I know," said Billy, placing his hands on his wide hips. "So that makes me wonder: what are you afraid of?"

I said half-jokingly, "I don't like snakes very much."

"That's not what I'm talking about. Why are you nervous right now?"

I gave him a long, hard look, wondering if I could trust my chef with any of my secrets. Ultimately, no, I couldn't. But it would be nice to expel some of my anxiety, to have an outlet other than yelling at my staff.

"I've not heard from Oswald."

"And you're worried about him?"

"'Worried' is a little over-the-top, don't you think?"

Billy chuckled, "For most people, sure. But you're overprotective….and a few other things."

"I'm the jealous type—I admit it. But that's not why I am worried."

"You don't think he's two-timing you?"

"He never would. He always suspects that I might."

"That doesn't offend you?"

"He and I are both jealous. It's not one our best traits, but we get by," I explained coolly. "Regardless, I don't think he's cheating on me. I think he might be in trouble."

"One of the waiters say he left with Maroni—does that sound troubling?" Chef Billy asked curiously.

"It does but not for reasons you may think."

"Tried calling him?"

I nodded.

"Have you tried texting him?" Billy asked.

Once again, I nodded.

"Does he normally tell you where he's going?"

"Not all the time. That's why I think I may be overreacting just a bit…."

"That's what you're telling yourself," said Billy, crossing his arms. "But what's your gut telling you? I know what mine tells me. It says 'eat lunch', and I do it. When it tells me to not pass on the dessert, I'm digging into that ice cream bowl."

I gave him a look, saying, "Your gut is a bad influence."

"It can be," Billy agreed, shrugging. "But it's normally right."

Huh. Who knew Chefs were wise?

"Listen to your gut," said Billy carefully. "It knows what's wrong before the rest of you does."

I smiled, getting to my feet.

"Thank you, Bill." I said, holding out my hand.

"No problem," He replied, shaking it. "Does this mean I get a raise?"

"Maybe. I'll talk to Oswald and see if something can be arranged."

Billy grinned widely and he left the office, closing the door on the way out.

I opened my messages and my heart skipped a beat when I read the message:

'Maroni knows.'

I stared at the message for a while longer before it registered in my brain: Maroni knows that Fish isn't dead, maybe? He knows that Oswald is secretly working for Falcone? That message could mean a whole shitload of things! One thing was for certain: my life was in danger.

"Fuck…." I muttered. "Fuck!"

Schedules would have to wait! I glanced out of the office window and saw some of Maroni's men outside waiting for me.

"Oh shit!" I gasped.

They're coming for you.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit on a fucking cracker, shit…. okay…okay…." I mumbled to myself. I thought better aloud anyway—who needed a thought bubble. "Shit..."

There were two windows on the back wall, opposite of the door. I slid the office chair underneath the one that looked like it would open.

There was no latch or pulley—nothing. It was just decoration.

But I could fit through it if I broke it. My eyes darted around the room. Anything could be used as a weapon in this place, even that stapler, or the guest's chair.

Bingo.

Lifting the chair was a lot harder than I thought since it was heavier than it looked. I lifted it over my shoulder and threw it into the glass, and then I fell backwards momentarily after.

Not the best idea, idiot.

The door opened.

Yeah, you should have locked that sucker up.

They were familiar, the two large thugs belonging to Maroni that came inside the office. The first was dressed in his usual yellow garb; his name was Mack. The other was just as stocky, dressed in black. His name was Crone. They both smiled at me.

"Boss told us to take you out," Mack said lazily. "I told him it would be a pleasure. How do you wanna do it?"

"Fuck you." I hissed.

Mack sighed, glancing at his compadre, "I guess we're doing it the hard way, huh?"

"Yeah," chuckled Crone. "I guess we are." He grinned slyly, and he took out a knife. "How do you like it, Poppet?"

I couldn't think of a good enough comeback for him. Instead, I was trying to think of the quickest way out of this office. The window hadn't even splintered—maybe I should have the same guy who put up the glass window fix the sink?

"You got to love a strong-willed woman," Mack jeered at Crone. "They're so fiery, you know? I bet she's just a wild animal in the sack. Isn't that right?"

"If you come any closer, I will eat your fucking nose."

"I'd hope you'd lick something first," guffawed Mack. To lay down the point, he grabbed himself through his pants. "Let's see what keeps that penguin's attention at night, huh?"

Crone seemed reluctant with the suggestion. He held the knife in his hand but I doubted he had intended on using it for more than just slicing and dicing. Mack, on the other hand, looked like he might come in his pants with just the thought of his dick in my mouth. There was a lot of hunger in that face, and I know it wasn't real hunger because he'd eaten three plates of Chef Billy's lasagna.

They steadily crept forward. Three times my weight—there was no way I could fight one, never the less, the both of them.

My phone started ringing; I answered it quickly, "Yes…."

"Sylvia!"

It was Oswald.

I didn't let out a breath of relief, even though I wanted to. If these fuckers knew that Oswald was alive, they'd call Maroni and try to find him again. I felt my voice shake though.

"Sylvia!"

I smiled at the two men, saying, "It's the pizza guy."

"Is it?" Mack said skeptically. "You're ordering pizza?"

"I was until you two came. I can finish ordering if you want—it's already bought and paid for….er...compliments of the house."

I spoke into the phone as I talked to the two goons. I didn't know what I was expecting but….it was well worth a short.

"Sure, order the pizza," said Mack, gesturing to me. "Then…. then you can suck my pepperoni, if you get what I am saying."

Oswald's voice sounded uncertain on the other side as he said my name again.

"Oh," I continued. "Who is the pizza for? Well, just put on the list that it's for Mack and Crone—they'll be here for pickup."

""Put extra cheese on mine."

"Yes, two pizzas," I said shakily. "Extra cheese on Mack's pizza, please."

Oswald was quiet on the other line. Until he spoke next, "Say 'Mushrooms' if you are in trouble, Sylvia."

"Mushrooms," I answered calmly.

Crone added, "Extra pepperonis. I don't really want Mushrooms on mine."

I nodded quickly and covered the speaker just barely so Oswald could still hear while I told Crone, "Don't worry—I'll let him know…. he's uh…. writing all the information down to give to his boss."

On Oswald's side, I could hear another voice. It was Falcone, talking to him. They spoke quickly and under their breaths. Falcone's voice on the other line startled me.

"Sylvia, if there is more than one person with you, say you would like 'Thin Crust'."

"I'd like both of the pizzas to be 'thin crust'…." I began.

"No! NO THIN CRUST!" Mack shouted.

"N-nevermind…." I said quickly. "No thin crust…. per the fine gentleman in front of me."

Mack pulled out a gun and I felt my legs starting to give out from all this anxiety.

"Finish ordering that pizza, little girl," Mack drawled. "And we'll have something real nice for you."

Falcone's voice said calmly, "You're trying to be calm, Sylvia. Don't. Let them feel like they have you under control. Where are you?"

I heard Oswald say, "She's at the restaurant."

Falcone's voice returned: "My men are coming, Sylvia."

"Sure thing," I said, nodding quickly. I looked at the men. "They want to know if you'd like anything to go with it?"

"Some Pepsi—but none of that diet shit," Crone insisted, nudging Mack. "And it better come cold!"

"Pepsi," I said quickly. "Um. What's the estimated time of arrival, may I ask?"

Oswald's voice spoke on the other end: "Twenty minutes. Tell them it'll be fifteen."

"Fifteen minutes." I repeated.

Mack snarled, "Fuck that—make it thirty—I'd like this moment to last forever."

I couldn't say anything to that: not to them or to Oswald.

"We'll be there as quick as possible, Sylvia. I love you." Oswald said—and his voice shook too.

I couldn't say anything to that without feeling I would give myself away. I hung up the phone. Mack held his hand out for it, and I gave it to them. Mack smirked back at Crone.

"Keep that door shut." Mack said dangerously. "I want to enjoy this…"

"What if I wanted her first?" Crone questioned, offended. "I hate sloppy seconds."

"Well, you're going to have to live with it, then. I'll just leave nothing for you, how's that? You like that?"

I rolled my eyes. Even when my life and otherwise perfect vagina was being threatened, I couldn't help but feel irritated by the childish argument. But it seemed that between the two of them, Mack was the Alpha male since Crone seemed placated by the insult; he stood in front of the door, facing us.

"He's just going to watch?" I exclaimed, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Don't tell me you're shy—I bet you like doing shit in front of people. Nice handful of tits like yours—you gotta be a real exhibitionist."

"I'm surprised you even know that word."

"'Exhibitionist'?" Mack asked, stepping forward with a smug grin.

"No. The word 'of'."

"Smart ass little bitch. I'm going to enjoy this."

He stepped closer to me. I moved to the side, keeping my back away from any walls. There was no flipping way I would be the stupid girl slowly being backed into a corner.

No one puts Baby in a corner.

Ha. Movie references.

Mack seemed to realize I wasn't as stupid as he thought; he noticed that I always kept some space between us. He suddenly lunged forward. I jumped back. He took a swipe again, and I ran past him.

This office wasn't big to begin with, but of medium space. He placed the gun on the table.

"I was just going to fuck you, nice and slow, and then shoot ya, but I guess I've changed my mind," Mack growled. "I'm going to fuck you until you bleed, and then I will shoot you. Sounds good, doesn't it?"

"Could you shoot me first?" I questioned pointedly. "I'd rather be dead than have that little sausage go anywhere near me!"

"That's right. Make me mad. It'll only hurt worse!"

He lunged forward one more time and grabbed my hair. I started kicking and screaming as loud as possible. He shoved his hand over my mouth, then slammed my body into the ground. I grunted at the impact and he straddled me.

"Gotta thank god for you girls wearing shit like this…." Mack moaned as he yanked my skirt above my waist. I still wriggled and writhed, trying to get away from him. He sat on my knees and one hand held both of my wrists in his palm.

My god, this guy was fat.

"Look at that cute little pussy just trying to get out," said Mack, grinning toothily. "I bet you're shaven too…. Let's took a look!"

"NO!" I screamed, but it came out as "MM!" thanks to the hand that muzzled me.

He took one side of my panties and stripped them down my legs.

"Oh my god…. Look at this, Crone!" Mack shouted, grinning downwards. "Not one hair!"

Crone, who just had to see what Mack was bragging about, came running forward and he started palming his own crotch when he saw my bare pussy.

"Okay—you've looked," said Mack gruffly, "Get back to guarding the damn door!"

Crone mumbled hateful words under his breath before doing what he was told.

Mack reached between my legs and shoved his fingers inside me.

It was this point that I started crying and I started struggling even harder.

"Oh, so fucking tight.... goddamn, this bitch is—"

There was a large BAM at the door, like someone was trying to break in. Crone grunted at the impact, and whipped around in surprise. Mack ignored it shouting, "DON'T LET THEM IN!"

He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and out sprung a big cock. It touched my inner thighs and I screamed as loud as possible. Then I bit the fucker's hand.

"FUCKING WHORE!" He shouted, and he slapped me in the face.

"GET OFF ME!" I screamed.

"That comes after I've been inside you," Mack groaned.

When the BAM happened again, it burst through the door. The BAM sound was another one of Maroni's big fellas being thrown into the door. When the door was bust through, Crone was swung to the left, his head hitting the wall hard; he drooped against the wall, knocked out. Stepping on the fat door-breaker of a human being was Victor Zsasz, JJ and Al. Behind them was Carmine Falcone, who seemed at ease until he saw my predicament.

Mack wasn't paying any attention.

Victor started forward, murder in his eyes. He placed two guns against Mack's head, and cocked each of them.

After hearing the sound, Mack looked at me like he'd never been more terrified.

"Take your hands off my student," Victor ordered dangerously. "Stand up, and back away. If you don't do what I say, I will happily blow your head off."

Mack looked down at me. Despite the tears running down my face, I smirked at him.

"You better do what he says," I said lowly.

Mack slowly stood up and I crawled away, my face burning in humiliation. Falcone approached Mack, his eyes were cold like ice, and empty. He placed his hands behind him, as though he was thinking of the many ways that he could discipline this character.

"Sylvia." Falcone said softly.

I looked up at him.

"Would you kindly leave the room? Your fiancé is outside waiting for you." Falcone explained gently. "But before Victor and I deal with Crone..." (Victor's eyes never left Mack's head) "I think it's only fair that you get to decide what should be done with Mack."

I looked at the man in question, who still had his cock out—although instead of it being hard and erect, it was soft and tiny.

"Sir…." I began.

"I'll tell you what I would do…." Falcone encouraged, smiling. "If I had been in your situation."

"You would kill him?" I asked knowingly.

"Of course."

Victor spoke calmly, "I know what I would do" and he mimicked a gun shooting at Mack's privates, making Al and JJ smirk at each other.

The latter whimpered, shaking his head, pleading for mercy.

"I have something else in mind."

Falcone watched expectantly as I strode towards Mack, who looked at me defiantly. He was trying to maintain his dignity, proving that he was still the Alpha male. Falcone waved for Victor and his team to move away and leave me with Mack.

"You still want me to suck your dick?" I asked softly, caressing his face.

Victor's eyes widened in shock and he glanced at Falcone uncertainly, leaning in, he said, "Boss…. I think we should—"

"Let's see where this goes," Falcone insisted. "Get Cobblepot in here."

"I don't think that's a wise decision," Victor muttered. "She's going to—"

"Get him in here," Falcone ordered.

"Sure…." Victor said quietly. He made a hand gesture and I was a bit aware that Oswald was in the room with us.

"What is—" Oswald began, but Falcone hushed him.

Mack looked at me incredulously.

"Do you…" I said quietly, "still want me….to suck your dick?"

"Um…. I mean, sure…." Mack muttered, his eyes staring me down.

I palmed him in front of everyone.

"Sylvia!" Oswald protested.

"Shh," Victor ordered. "We're seeing where this goes."

I palmed the guy until he was erect and relaxed. Then I slowly knelt to my knees.

"Boss, are we really going to let this happen?" Victor said incredulously.

Once my mouth was on Mack's dick, Mack moaned.

Then I bit down. Hard.

"AHHHHH!" Mack screamed.

I stood up, holding Mack's penis in my hand, spitting out the blood.

"Now you can suck your own dick, you sick fucker!" I shouted, and I shoved it down his throat.

He gagged on it, and fell over, holding his thick neck, eyes wide in terror and shock. I watched him slowly suffocate, and he reached out for anything or anyone to help him. When he held my ankle, I grabbed the gun that Mack had carelessly sat on the table, aimed and pulled the trigger, shooting off his balls. He tried to scream, but much like mine had been, his screams were muffled.

His eyes grew wider as he slowly began to die, and when he was dead, I threw the gun into his lap.

I turned to see Victor staring at me, although he was grinning; Oswald looked absolutely terrified and Falcone appeared satisfied, albeit a bit disgusted. I strode past them without another word and was thankful that the rest of the restaurant had been cleared of all customers.

In the bathroom, I saw myself in the mirror. My entire front was covered with blood, my face was splattered and speckled with red, covering my tear-stained cheeks. I turned the faucet on full blast, ripped paper towels from the dispenser and rubbed them vigorously over my face before wetting them and doing the same between my legs.

Then I started crying for many reasons.

Crying because I had been violated. Crying because I had let it happen. Crying because I was so furious that I was crying in the first place. It was during that moment that I truly felt like I had been helpless. But the sound of screams that had come out of Mack, the way he pleaded and begged for death all the way to the end almost made up for it. The crunch sound his penis made when it was ripped off his body, and the blood that spurted out when I shot his balls.

I threw the bloody towels in the trash can.

I brushed my hair to the side and walked out of the bathroom. Pacing back and forth was Oswald, who, when he saw me, moved quickly and wrapped his arms around me. Despite the fact that my shirt was covered in blood, he didn't seem to care.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

"But truly, I am," Oswald insisted. "This makes it twice that this has happened because of me, my work."

I shoved him away and shouted, "I said don't apologize!"

He blinked, taken aback.

"I chose to be a part of this," I said, pointing at Falcone. "You can't be sorry for something I chose. Stop being sorry, Oswald. Stop saying you're sorry, even when you are! Your work—Don Falcone, Don Maroni, hell, even the craziness of the GCPD—I knew what I was getting into when we started dating!"

I looked at Falcone quickly saying, "No offense, sir."

"None taken," said Falcone, raising his hands. He looked at Victor. "Bring Crone." He glanced at the man who was slowly coming to. "We'll add him to your collection."

Victor grinned widely, saying, "You heard him, girls. Looks like ol' Butch is gonna have a friend!"

I turned to Oswald who looked at me. He struggled to speak.

"I don't know what to say," Oswald said finally.

"Then don't say anything," I remarked shakily. "Just…I need to go home. Can you take me home?"

"Of course," Oswald responded quickly.

He unbuttoned and shrugged off his jacket and placed it over me and he walked me to the car. While Gabe drove us, I sat in the back seat; and for once, Oswald was seated there with me. He held out his hand, palm up. I placed my hand in his; he squeezed.

He smiled gently at me, but I couldn't return it. I turned my head, looking out the window.

I was quiet the entire way home.