POV: Ace De la Cruz
"Eren" I spoke on the intercom, "bring the car."
Eren not being used to me calling him directly- seemed dumbfounded for a moment and then was quick to reply with an 'Sí, señor'
I got up, donned my suit, and walked out of the office. As soon as I reached my secretary, Maria's desk, she handed me a meeting file. I raised an eyebrow at her and then I remembered. Shit! The 8 p.m. meeting I was supposed to have. I let out a deep breath. I don't want to do this meeting. The man I had an appointment with was a positive schmuck. I looked at Maria and she just gave me a 'you-know-you-have-to' smile.
I walked into the lift and pressed the ground floor button. Suddenly, I caught my reflection on the lift wall and saw my mother's ice-grey eyes staring back at me. The only difference was that her eyes carried love and care while mine were void of any expression. Good.
After I got off at the ground floor and went straight into the car.
"Where to señor?" Eren asked, his thick Italian accent flowing through.
" Area 72, keep driving around a bit."
I couldn't see him but I knew he was smirking as he replied with "Sí, señor". Area 72 was one of my favourite go-to places. Although I couldn't let myself be seen there to an extent that people start thinking it was a habit. If I've learnt anything in this line of work, it's that there are people watching. Always. They always know where you are, what you are there for and who you're there with. I learnt that the hard way. But I've also learnt that you have to let them watch. When they catch you correctly a few times, they think they've got you, and you have to let them believe that.
To make sure that the espías or spies as we call them never keep up, we had the whole land under our control divided into numbered areas. This made sure that they did not know the exact area we were going to, and if they ever got to know the number or codeword of the specific area, we just exchanged the numbers and watch the spies keeping a lookout at the wrong places for months on the end. It was especially amusing for our spies in the spies who spied on the spies who were sent to spy on us. Hmm, food for thought.
I picked up my phone and dialled Alberto. I stared at the number for a while and then finally called him.
"Hola, cariño" I mentally groaned at that sickling and sticky sweet voice.
" Hola, Alberto"
"¿Por qué tan serio? ¡Estamos hablando después de tanto tiempo!" (Why so serious? We are talking after so long!)
I was seriously beginning to consider throwing the phone out the window.
"- luego fui a la fiesta y no te vi Pero les dije a todos que tú y yo en realidad éramos cercanos-" he was still going on about god knows what and before I decided that I could always get a new phone, I cut him off and in the rudest voice possible said, "Area 72, my men will find you." I cut the phone and let out a groan.
I know what I did was going to affect the deal but if my ears were subjected to his voice a second more, I swear I would have shot myself.
The car stopped in front of Dark Mirror, one of my favourite possessions with its 15 feet high, dazzling red doors. I brought this 6 years ago when there used to be a vintage, 80's themed bar with flashing red lights and a brothel attached. I love how it turned out.
I got out and walked through the doors and into the security area. The guard recognized me and bowed, the other 4 followed suit. As one of the security walked me to my office, I was met again by the strong, musty smell of almost naked bodies already dancing and grooving against each other, covered in sweat and high in their minds.
We went up the stairs and passed the view balcony that flashed blue and neon lights into the VIP lounge and allowed the socialites to view the swarm of people in the nightclub. It was only 8 p.m. right now and the floor looked almost packed. Well good business for me.
The guard opened the heavy doors to my office for me and after I walked in, relishing the feeling of being back, I gave him a nod and he bowed, leaving and closing the door behind him. I missed this place. I had other people on the team who redesigned the other parts of the pub but they were not allowed anywhere near my office. I had personally designed and shopped for this place. From the Calacatta flooring to the Mahogany desk to the personalised Viatra Grand armchair. Several paintings that I had collected over the years, littered the walls. The grand chandelier that I had to export from India and the sofa that made its way through bribes and blood from Columbia.
I glanced around the room and that unusual and rare warmth filled me up again.
Suddenly the door burst open and one of my bodyguards, his face pale and his face astonished, came running in. His was almost shaking. Taking a deep breath in he said as calmly as possible, "I am very sorry sir, but Mr Alberto's here and he's at it again. We tried to stop him but he's insisting sir."
Not this shit again.
//
