𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗗 𝗔𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥 ⚔︎

10

it happened. giovanni volkov hit rock bottom.

since his cousins had kicked him out, giovanni began sleeping in the room underneath the royale. his routine was a simple one: he would finish up his shift at the club, sneak off downstairs to the basement, and sleep on one of the leather sofas that were kept down there. he had been brushing his teeth in the big sink in the chef's kitchen and using his rucksack folded up as a pillow (the cushions that eddie kept on the sofa had been flattened by months, if not years, of asses). for showers, he went to the hostel on 9th avenue, just a few blocks away. he used his army green trench coat as a make-shift blanket, which was not very warm in the dead of night. when the early morning light began to glimmer through the windows, giovanni hid his things and got dressed, sharpening himself up ready for work the next day.

the fact that he was homeless went unnoticeable to the other workers and his bosses. he could still fake a smile to the guests, he could still greet eddie with the same old handshake, he could still keep up his polished appearances. but inside, very deep inside, it was eating away at him like a relentless disease. there was nothing he could do — he was powerless against it. he could only sit back and watch as it tore him apart, limb from limb. he knew this feeling all too well and hated it.

the time had just gone 11pm. it was a saturday night, and giovanni was on the same old leather sofa, struggling to sleep, as the club on the top floor was obviously open. the pounding bass from the music reverberated throughout the whole building. he tossed and turned impatiently under his trench coat, drowsiness tugging at his eyelids.

laying on his back, giovanni sighed, closing his eyes again. he was upset that he was allowing himself to indulge in such emotions. he put the trench coat over his head, hoping it would drown out the music just a tiny bit more.

suddenly, he heard a key jingling in the door at the top of the concrete stairs, behind the wall. it opened and the light was flicked on. moments later, footsteps descended down the stairs. his heart rate skyrocketed, so high that he could hear his pulse in his ears. then, whoever it was began whistling a tune, and their footsteps stopped in the small water closet opposite the left arm of the sofa. giovanni peeked over his trench coat and he spied sal, taking a piss in the toilet, his back to the half-asleep man.

sal zipped his fly and began washing his hands in the sink. giovanni could now see half of his face in the light, tanned and rugged. he tried to move, but his leg cramped. he gritted his teeth through the pain, resisting the urge to move.

but he couldn't. under the trench coat, he gripped his calf.

sal saw the movement as he was just leaving the water closet. "woah!" he yelped in alarm, quickly pulling his pistol out. he aimed it at the mound of clothes that giovanni was sleeping under. "show your hands!"

giovanni slowly sat up on the leather couch, his hands raised in surrender.

sal frowned. "gio?" he lowered his gun. "what the hell are you doin' down here?"

giovanni swung his legs out of the trench coat and began fiddling with his rucksack, zipping pockets and tightening straps. "i'm sorry, i'll be out now, i—"

"why are you sleeping in the basement?" sal said, cutting him off. he glanced at the belongings sprawled out on the coffee table: a pair of socks, a pack of cigarettes, a stale glass of water. clothes were drying on the radiator. "how long have you been doin' this?"

giovanni avoided sal's sympathetic gaze. "five days..." he shamefully muttered. "i'm sorry. i have nowhere else to go. my cousins cannot afford for me to stay at their apartment."

sal scratched the back of his neck, deep in thought. "so... you're homeless?"

giovanni looked at the floor. he felt so embarrassed that he thought he was going to be sick. "yes, i'm afraid so."