AllFreeNovel
Share Us
* * *
It’s seven in the morning by the time I’m done showering, dressed, and walking toward the kitchen. The smell of bacon and sausage permeate the air.
“Smells good, Robert,” I say.
“Thank you, sir. I have help this morning.”
When I enter the kitchen, I spot Mariella standing on the other side of the stove, hovering over a plate.
“I see. Good morning, Mariella.”
She doesn’t turn around. “Morning.”
“Food will be ready in just a minute, Mr. Moreno,” Richard says, giving me a look as he tilts his head to Mariella, alerting me she’s slowed him down.
I nod. “It’s fine.”
After I make a cup of coffee, I find my way to the breakfast nook off the side of the kitchen with a view of the cityscape as I catch up with Khalid via text messages.
The mess last night was cleaned up, body disposed of, and the opening night of ENMY was a success. The Italians sent someone to infiltrate the club in the hopes of burning it down, however, their man messed up. If he had just come in through the front door, he would’ve been fine, because he was a low level soldier that we had never seen before. Instead, he decided he wanted to try to sneak in through the back only to be found by our security.
The Italian’s have been upset with us for years. First, for expanding past Luzington and taking over Clover. To be fair, nobody had officially claimed it. It was a shared space since the Italians were settled in Briton and the Russians are comfortable across the bridge in Illmechio. The Irish have Newsanios, so it was technically up for grabs.
You see, the state of San Parco is split into four territories. Like New York has Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan, Staten Island, and The Bronx, San Parco has Briton, Clover, Newsanios, and Illmechio. We have Clover City, which is where Ace’s High resides as well as several other businesses under our control. Opening a sex club in Briton was a risk, but we took it, knowing they’d come for us because it’s their area. That reignited their hate, so they want the business to fail or go up in flames, and I’m sure last night won’t be their last attempt at trying to bring us down.
The Italians have a superiority complex. Granted, the mafia started with them, but because of that, they’ll always believe they're the most important, and that’s simply not true. They don’t know how to evolve past traditions. I’ll be honest, we do stick to their hierarchy structure, but not everybody in our family has to be full-blooded anything.
“Here you are, sir,” Robert announces, bringing over plates of food. “Maple glazed sausage, bacon, and Ms. Mariella here has eggs Benedict and some coconut pancakes with banana and creme fraîche.”
Once Mariella has placed her plates on the table, she barely glances at me and heads back to the kitchen.
“I hope it was okay that she helped, sir. She was down here when I arrived and asked to cook.”
“It’s fine, Robert. No worries. Thank you.”
He dips his chin and follows Mariella back to the kitchen. I watch as she helps him clean up, though I can tell he’s trying to dismiss her.
“Mariella, come join me,” I state.
She spins and looks at me briefly before turning back and saying something to Robert. He shoos her away, handing her a plate, and she sulks all the way to the table.
“You might as well enjoy some of your own creations.”
She looks like she wants to be stubborn when she turns her head and stares out the window, but hunger eventually wins and she spins back around and starts filling her plate.
“When am I going home?”
“Do you have somewhere you need to be today?” I ask, reaching for my fork.
“Yeah. Home. Well, actually,” she says, losing some bravado. “I need to go back to the hotel room I was in last night. I left some of my stuff there.”
“I’ll have someone pick up your things.”
“Okay, well, then I need to go home.”
“You don’t have work anymore, since you’re quitting. What are your school hours?”
“Oh, you mean you don’t know?” she quips.
