Manhattan, 2024
"I'm pretty sure I'm gonna see that stupid brat around New York." A tall and dark washeddown Italian man mutters as he scowers Madison Avenue for a taxi, carrying his worn-down back pack. Contrastingly, he's wearing a sharp suit. The only piece of decent suit he has.
Franco cannot afford a decent lifestyle in Manhattan. He knew that would be the case, but he left his warm home and cold career in California for the unpredictability of New York City.
He's also regretting a little.
Franco came back to New York when he was suddenly offered a job by THE FREAKING GOVERNOR. As rumored, he was very smart in advising, so famous that the politicians from California cannot help but notice it. His former Law Firm was about to appoint him as Head Researcher and Counselor with salary increase, but as soon as he was offered the job as the Governor’s Advisor, he packed his things right away.
He doesn't know himself why he decided to jump to the universe's ride, but he's quite sure it's calling him to do something about Quinn Hampton.
(Good lords, Captain Quinn Hampton.) His stomach churns at the very thought of him. That evil, malicious, psychopathic, sociopathic, rich brat lives here in New York, in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, in the very island he’s in. He should have thought twice before accepting the job, besides, his hometown is Brooklyn, not Manhattan.
Speak of the devil and he will appear holding Starbucks strawberry frappe. Quinn smiled as they ‘accidentally’ bump each other while walking on Madison Avenue. Some of Quinn’s red syrup went unto Franco’s white dress shirt and some on his new shoes.
“Aw fuck. Quinn fucking Hampton, you piece of shit,” was Franco’s first words, of course. He wouldn’t mistake any small blonde lithe male as anyone but. He had actually called anyone in that criteria Quinn Hampton, much to his dismay. The small brat has been the main character of his nightmares.
Quinn Hampton, still wearing a smirk, knee-length shorts, expensive-looking three-piece suit, and a sailor’s hat, calls in fake-ass shock. “Oh, Atty. Franco Capiletti. Oh my gosh, it was good seeing you here. How is Marcus and Sergei and everyone in California?”
“Bitch. Like you don’t know. I’m pretty sure you have spies.” Franco sneered, trying his best to clean his white dress shirt in the middle of Madison Avenue.
“Oh please.” Quinn slurped on what’s left of his Frappe. “That shirt is not even worth your time. It’s low quality. And those shoes… geez… it’s like you don’t know how to properly use money. I’ve heard you live in a shitty apartment in Manhattan as well.”
“I don’t need financial advice from you, thank you very much. And my apartment is quite cozy. I don’t need a huge-ass expensive studio-type artistic city-living bullshit of a suite, okay?”
“Oh Franco,” Quinn moved closer to pat Franco’s dry shoulder. “If you need financial help, I’m just here. What friends are for anyway?”
Franco swatted his hand away. Quinn just backed away, smirking.
“Come on Franco, I just want to know how you are. Don’t you want to know how I am?”
“I would only be happy of your well-being if you’re going down.” Franco fumed, walking away from the prat as far as possible. He still needs to be in the State House for his Governor, but of course, one way or another, he would meet the brat who is basically everywhere in Manhattan. He’s The Shipping Young Master, The Captain, The richest in New York and New Jersey, maybe even the whole U.S.A. Franco learns that this brat even holds his Governor in tight leash, the thing his Governor so truly hates. Franco learns California is way different from New York in terms of Capitalistic mindset. For it seems, Quinn is the reigning Queen here after his mother publicly addressed her resignation to go back to Canada, the Hamptons’ true home.
(God I wish this man goes back to Canada as well and take maple syrups with him. Literally, the only thing I like about Canada are the geese.) Franco always thinks.
When Franco semi-sprinted away from the Captain, he called. “Then why, Franco, are you here in Manhattan where I live?”
Franco, ever the person without chill, faced him back with thin line of lips.
“Because I was offered a job, bitch”
“Oh? But you were offered a high position in your Californian firm? To be honest, even my spies were shocked. Your promotion salary is twice your salary here as a mere advisor.”
Franco hated it. He hated that Quinn is going somewhere, and it is somewhere he never wanted to mind. “I missed New York.” He reasoned.
Quinn gave a hearty laugh. “You’re from Brooklyn, I’m sure you’ve never set foot here in Manhattan before. Just admit it Franco, you wanted to see me.”
Franco rolled his eyes. “Is this what you think? That the world turns around you? What else? You think Marcus and Sergei are worrying about you? For the record, they hate you. I told them everything.”
With that Quinn’s smile faded. Franco is pretty sure he had spies sent to them as well, so whatever Franco is lying about, he will disprove it. In that light, Franco is somehow puzzled why Quinn wouldn’t tell him he’s lying.
“What are you scowling about?” Franco continues. “Are you sad that the very friends you’ve used and tortured are somehow angry at you? Are you sad that I’m pissed off that I would tell them your crimes? Dear lord, bitch, you must be very shocked.”
Quinn stood still, his eyes laced with fury and betrayal. Betrayal? It was him who betrayed everybody. Quinn has no reason to feel betrayed. One way or another, Quinn should have expected that things will fall back to him, but no, he looked hurt. (He doesn’t have the right to. He doesn’t have the right to), is what Franco keeps on telling himself. Nonetheless, hurt ensues.
“You’re not the reason why I’m here. But seeing your face like that is a huge-ass bonus. And for now and forever, stay away, Quinn.”
With that, Franco turned his heels away from Quinn and walked fast, very fast, stumbled on a couple of street poles and bicycles and pigeons. He walked very fast, running away from Quinn as much as possible.
Because he felt it. The unwanted guilt.
Quinn Hampton deserved everything he has to take, so Franco doesn’t need to feel bad for him.
*
Notes: This is the second book of “Bro of my life”. I don’t think this can be a stand-alone book so please read that before continuing.
Notes: For non-americans, New York is a State in that country. In New York, there are several boroughs and one of them are Manhattan, Brooklyn and Queens. Manhattan has the richest and most posh culture so I chose the setting.
In Manhattan, there is the Upper East Side (rich residence), the Upper West side (Entertainment and business), and those lower regions where the Port of New York and New Jersey are located. Quinn lives in Lower East side because his ships (and residence) and there.
Notes: Please freely correct me if I am doing something wrong with the political matters. In the first place, USA is not my country and I found their politics a lot more complicated than it should. I am Asian from the same country as Marcus.
Also, fuck capitalism
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Tensions and Attentions
Humor[Completed, new upload] [Book 2 of Bro of my Life] In the High Society Upper East Side of New York, tensions happen. Quinn is a pompous, bratty, and genius capitalist, while Franco is a simple political advisor/activist who just wants to punch his f...
