ambition // cazzie (REWRITING 7-11)

one

Casey's POV

The sound of small-talk and the pattering of rain against tin echoed throughout the empty warehouse, setting the mood for a dark evening. It had been raining nonstop for the past three days, so everyone was cooped up inside as they tried to stay out of the cold.

Most people were hanging around the commons area, catching up on the latest news or cleaning their supplies and whatnot. I found myself wiping off some grease from the small pistol I carried, being careful not to flick the safety off as I dragged the cloth across the smooth metal. It was weird being set up at a whole new location; my mafia had to move sites after our coordinates got leaked through the gambling market. We were used to moving quickly anyway- we were a mafia after all.

Honestly, I don't know how this whole business started. Or for a better word, how I became the boss of it all. For generations, my family ran the mafia. Our acquaintances grew with us and by the time I was born, we had a bustling community. My parents, Elsa and Doug, were the mob bosses at the time. They ran it together, side-by-side. One day, some complications happened between Elsa and this other mafia. She ended up joining them instead, leaving Doug to do all the hard work by himself. He couldn't handle it all as he aged, so right as I turned 18, he gave me ownership of the mafia. It may sound stressful to be ranked as a mafia leader without your own consent, but I was raised in this life. I understand how it works.

Well, hopefully. Everything has been running smoothly so far. Doug steps in and helps me every so often, but I've been running this mafia for 2 years now. The worst thing I've had to deal with was this low-end group trying to break into our last facility. It was an easy fix, just some sweet-talking and lead.

I turned the pistol over in my dirtied hands, checking for any more imperfections. While I was admiring the weapon, a pair of hands slipped over my eyes. I immediately recognized who it was right as their calloused fingers hit my face.

I moved my hands up to pull their hands down, turning my head to the side.

"Hey Evan."

Evan Chapin was my closest associate. He helped me with everything that Doug couldn't do, but he usually stayed at the workshop fixing our weapons, vehicles, and supplies. We're very close friends; he was one of the people I trusted the most.

"Hey," Evan drawled out the word, having no trouble in peeking over me to see what I was holding, "-what're you doing?"

"Just cleaning my pistol. I didn't want it to get too grimy to the point where I can't use it." I reply, and the boy behind me chuckles. I place down the gun and turn to face him, leaning against the foldable table behind me. "So, what's up?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just the usual. Though, Sharice did stop by earlier. She had some news about this bunker she found while scouting out the city. It seems to be owned by another mafia, but there's no lock. She said that there's food and stuff; she brought back what she could carry." Evan explained, taking a moment to survey my appearance. I looked at him quizzically, and he bit down on his tongue for a moment as he grabbed something from his pocket. He smiled at me, "Sorry, I just realized you have a bit of grease on your cheek. Just let me, uh..." Evan moved his rag up and swept it across my face for a moment, causing us both to giggle.

"Thanks. I'm sure no one would've told me about that. I'd have looked like some tribal leader- God, that'd be embarrassing." I laughed, staring at the blond for a second. We shared a moment of silence as we both just enjoyed each other's presence, but we were soon interrupted by a loud bang beside me. I jumped and turned to my left, being met with Sharice. The girl grinned at both of us before she cradled her hand, wincing.