Projections Are Like A Fake Movie Playin' In Someone's Head, Not Real At All. Sometimes, Things Ain't 'Bout You – It's Just Insecure Folks Dealin' With Their Own Mess, Tryin' To Dump It On Others. Keep It Real, It's More 'Bout Them Than You.
- 𝒥uan Collins
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𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐈 | VOLUME ONE. ❝ A STRANGER TO HIMSELF. ❞ [ HARLEM, NY ]
In the midst of the lively celebration, the rhythmic clinking of champagne glasses echoed through the air, punctuated by cheers that resonated with the joyous atmosphere. Outside, a gentle rain added a serene touch, transforming the midday sky into a soft shade of gray by 2 pm. Sosa, his face adorned with a wide grin that stretched from ear to ear, expressed genuine delight upon learning that Juan had taken care of Mr. Bourgeois, or so he believed. Despite Sincere being privy to the truth about the altercation between BJ and Juan, he chose to weave a web of deception, standing firm beside the fabricated version of events. His motivation was clear – to shield Juan from the consequences, especially considering that Juan was not at fault.
The room was a dynamic tableau, filled with Sosa's crew, investors, and a mix of characters including Pedro, BJ, Rico, Malik, Santos, Sincere and their respective entourages. The heavy cheers, however, did not unite the crowd; instead, they were dispersed in different corners of the room. Juan, seated alongside Sosa and Pedro, remained distanced from the rest, his eyes quietly surveying the scene with a palpable sense of discontent. BJ concealed his discomfort with guilt, glancing repeatedly at Juan, who, in turn, seemed irritated, choosing to ignore BJ's presence. Meanwhile, Malik, stationed in a corner, enjoyed his drink, but his mind was preoccupied with multiple flashbacks of Angela. Since their one-night stand, he hadn't seen her, and the lack of contact fueled his thoughts, with everyday musings revolving around her.
Sosa, desiring everyone's attention, gracefully used a fork to create a rhythmic tapping on his glass. As the room gradually fell silent, so did the laughter, and all eyes turned to him. Meanwhile, Juan, seemingly disengaged, reclined in his chair, idly swirling the champagne in his glass, holding it nonchalantly by the rim. Breaking the quietude, Sosa spoke, acknowledging the purpose of the gathering. "Let's not overlook the reason we're celebrating tonight – Juan. I take immense pride in promoting him to my capo," he proclaimed. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned Pedro, who swiftly approached a secure safe. Inputting a code, Pedro triggered a green light accompanied by a soft beep, revealing a box that he handed to Sosa. The room held a touch of intrigue as Sosa slowly unveiled the box, revealing two intricately designed gold chains. Each chain held its significance, one adorned with the inscription "Harlem East," and the other bearing a personalized design for "Scarface." The realization dawned on Juan, as he looked up, momentarily perplexed. It was clear – he had now ascended to the upper echelons of the criminal hierarchy, solidified by the symbolic gold chains in his hands.
