[minor part seven spoilers]

d i e g o b r a n d o
BITCH    BETTER
HAVE  MY  MONEY

chicago. 1891

The bar was buzzing with conversation, mainly from your table which was cozied away in its own corner. You sipped your whiskey until your righthand man, Jonas, came over with the one person you were looking for. You smiled and gestured to the seat beside you, pulling it out for him.

"Billy! How are you doing today, honey? Sit."

"Wh-What?"

"Do you have short-term memory loss as well as long-term? I said 'how are you doing?', William." You signaled for the barmaid. "Tell the nice lady what you want."

"I-I'm fine... I'm fine, th-thanks," he stammered.

"I'm being kind when I don't have to be and you're turning me down?" You addressed the barmaid who seemed unfazed by your demeanor. "No home training."

"Apologies..." he muttered to you before asking the barmaid for a bourbon.

"Now that we've got the niceties out of the way... on your knees. Right now." The man obeyed, keeping his gaze locked to the floor. "Hey." You snapped to get his attention where you wanted it. "I'm not on the floor, you are. Eyes up here, honey." When he finally met your eyes, you leaned forward on your elbows. "Where's my motherfuckin' money, Billy?" you said so softly that only the two of you could hear it.

He began to cry, quickly dissolving in hysterics. "I-I'm sorry! Please, don't... don't kill me! I-I..."

"I have very simple rules around here, right?" He nodded. "Right. And you understand why I can't go easy on you, right?" He nodded. "Mhm, because if I go easy on you, then by principle I have to easy on everyone. And you know why I can't do that, right?" He nodded. "Because then everyone starts disrespecting me and screwing me over. I can't have that because then I'd run out of bullets." Jonas grabbed the man by the hair and pressed his face into the table. You rested your head in your hand and lazily regarded him as he sobbed into the laminated mahogany. "If I don't see my $75 in two days, Billy... Jonas, here, will have a knife in your yellow belly for every dollar unaccounted for. Capisce?"

"What if I told you I could get you way more than 75 measly dollars?" said a bold, British voice. You sat up to see who had the gall to get in your business.

Standing before you and your men was a man in khaki jodhpurs and a diamond-patterned quilted teal sweater. His eyes were the color of the ocean and his hair golden like the sun. And you recognized him immediately.

"Diego Brando," you announced. "What exactly brings you here?"

Seeming to get more familiar, he came closer until you had to start craning your neck to keep your eyes trained on his face. "Your assistance."

"Mhm," you hummed in introspective thought. You raised a hand, dismissing your men and Billy from the table. "Take a seat, Diego Brando." He did as you said and sat in the chair closest to you. "I'm sure you know what I'm going to ask, Mr. Brando—"

"Diego," he said simply.

You smiled. "Diego." You leaned back in your seat. "Why should I help you?"

"It'll be well worth your while," was all he offered.

"By how much, Diego? I don't just run headfirst into things, you know. I need a damn good reason why."

"By two million... and Manhattan Island... possibly the whole country."

You sat there and stared at him for a good while, waiting for his façade to crack. Eventually, you were the first to break. Your laughter started out contained, but you couldn't help yourself and doubled over with hiccuping laughs. "I know this white boy didn't come in here and say 'Manhattan Island' to my face! Diego, do the officiators of the race know you hit your head this bad?" you chuckled.

"I'm being serious here. This whole race is just a front for the president to obtain something valuable. I've agreed to help him under the pretense of getting money and power in return. If I feel like it, I might just take everything he has right from under him while I'm at it."

"And here's my follow-up question: why the hell should I believe a word you say?"

For the first time since he arrived, Diego cracked a smile. "Come here and I'll prove to you everything I'm saying."

Unquestioningly, you stood up and moved to sit on the edge of the table in front of Diego, resting your studded rose-gold boot on the seat beside his thigh. Not wasting a second, you whipped out your dagger and held it under his chin. "Try anything funny and I'll take this blade from your throat to your heart."

His grin grew wider as he turned his head to the side and swept his hair out of his face. His eye went from brilliant blue to sepia tan in an instant. Not only that, but the word 'TURBO' seemed etched into his iris and the name 'DIO' seemed imprinted on his cheekbone just under his eye. "This is just one of nine pieces to a whole. This eye alone gave me power. This is what the president desires."

You lowered your dagger and took his face in your free hand, angling his head to get a good look at his eye. Your fingers gently brushed against the 'DIO' on his skin, silently wondering if it was a trick of the light or facepaint. "What kind of power is this?" you inquired curiously.

"The kind that tells me that you spend a lot on perfume and lingerie and that would let me tear your jugular out if I wanted to."

"Careful how you tread, pretty boy," you warned lowly, lifting your weapon once more.

He wrapped his hand around your wrist which you easily countered, twisting your arm out of his grasp. "Relax, love," he drawled. "I have heightened senses. Among other things. I'll let you in on the rest if you agree to be my partner."

You pressed the flat of the blade against his chin, prompting him to look up at you. "'Partners?'"

"Of course."

"Equal partnership?"

"Of course."

"Equal pay?"

Diego grabbed your wrist a second time and pulled you toward him. "Whatever you want, darling."

"Here's my third question: why me?"

"We're more alike than you think, Y/n. I see what drives your ambition because it drives me too. I'm not one to be foolish, I know I need someone by my side in this." His gaze flitted to your lips for a brief second. "Someone the president doesn't know about."

You tilted your head to the side, taking in his unruly hair and shining blue eyes that were burning with ambition. You slid off the table and replaced your foot with your knee, bringing the two of you closer. "I think I'll consider it. But I want you to understand something, sugar: you won't live long enough to regret it if you so much as think about fucking me over."

His smirk grew as his arm wrapped around your middle and pulled you flush against his chest. To say you were taken aback was an understatement. Your chin was almost touching his shoulder, the only thing keeping you from dropping all of your weight on him was your grip on the back of the chair. "What if it was over a table?" he whispered in your ear.

You were glad that he couldn't see your face. You'd never admit that he was making you flustered, but your heart beating in your chest likely gave you away regardless. "My, my. You're a cheeky one, aren't you, Mr. Brando?" you breathed.

"I thought I told you to call me Diego," he said, his mouth still close to your ear.

"How 'bout I call you whatever the hell I want until I see that money... Mr. Brando."

He chuckled, sending a chill up your spine. "Fair enough."

You pulled back just enough to look Diego in the face, taking note that his grin somehow seemed even bigger. "In any case, it sounds like fun. Things were starting to get a little stale around here anyway."

"Y/n?" Jonas called from behind you. "What's going on? Does he need to be removed from the property?"

"At ease, Jo. He's fine. Get your affairs in order, however," you informed him, getting up from Diego's lap.

"Y/n?"

The last of your whiskey burned your mouth and throat as you downed it in one swig. "The Hell Rider gang is starting a new adventure," you said with a smirk as you glanced back at Diego who mirrored your expression.

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