Mafia

1 Lupin

It was late evening, and the sun was setting over the city, giving everything an orange-ish glow. I stepped into the gallery and was immediately met with a blast of cool air. I paused for a moment as I made my way inside, enjoying the refreshing sensation of the air conditioning after the block and a half walk from my car in the summer heat. I slipped my press pass into my rose gold clutch and placed the strap over my shoulder so that it crossed my body, leaving my hands free. As a reporter who specialized in being invisible, I've found that keeping my hands free is extremely beneficial. I breathed in the cool air and couldn't help but smile as I looked around. I'd always had a soft spot for art, especially the masters. After hearing about this gallery opening, I had planned to take a day off work to visit the exhibit, but once I heard the names on the guest list for opening night, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to do what I do best...reconnaissance.

I walked through the entry hall and made my way into the first room of the exhibit. All around me there were people mingling as they sipped on champagne in crystal flutes. The women were wearing elegant, floor length gowns, all of which undoubtedly cost more than I made in six months. Meanwhile, all of the men were wearing suits that were perfectly tailored and most likely just as expensive as the women's dresses. I couldn't help but feel extremely underdressed in my short, flowing blue dress with flowers and simple wedge heels. I took a deep breath. It's no problem. I thought. There's a reason your boss calls you "Spy Kid". I smiled at the thought of my boss and the nickname he gave me after I told him how I managed to get the information for my first big story.

I grabbed a flute of champagne from a nearby waiter, thanking him as he went. He gave me a surprised look and then smiled. Evidently, no one else here could be bothered to say thank you. If I'm going to be here. I thought. I need to blend in, even if I have no intention of drinking. I'd never been a big fan of alcohol. Never really saw the point in it, and even if I did, drinking while on a job just makes a reporter sloppy, something I can't afford. With the glass in my hand and my nerves slightly settled, I began to make my way through the gallery.

Every piece of art took my breath away. There's a reason the exhibition was called Art Through the Ages. These were the works of the masters. Da Vinci, Picasso, Monet, Degas, Van Gogh, Dali, and even some Michelangelo. I couldn't help but get lost in their beauty.

After taking in the beauty of the art, I turned to the crowd around me. All of them were clearly wealthy and definitely not afraid to show it. Everywhere I looked, I saw men in perfectly tailored suits that even I could tell were designer and women in beautiful evening gowns of every color imaginable, perfectly matched with exquisite pieces of jewelry that could probably payoff of my student loans from my undergraduate, graduate, master's, and doctoral degrees.

As my eyes scanned the crowd, I saw a few familiar faces. There were a some of the city's major political players and their wives, a couple CEOs, celebrities, and even a few professional athletes. But what really got my attention was a man standing over by the bar.

Actually there were three men over by the bar. The one on the right had blond hair and a cocky smirk on his face as he sipped a drink and typed on his phone. He was tall and definitely muscular. He had broad shoulders, but not nearly as broad as the guy on the left. His shaggy blond hair, muscular build, and tanned skin made him look like a surfer.

On the left there was a guy with brown hair. He looked extremely bored. He was just as tall as the blond guy, but he was a lot bigger. He was covered with muscles, and his extremely broad shoulders made him look like a football player. But it was the guy in the middle that really got my attention.

There was something different about him. I couldn't put my finger on it. He was wearing a suit like all the other men, but, unlike them, he seemed to make his suit look good, not the other way around. The black fabric was perfectly fitted to his body, which, even from across the room, I could tell was heavily muscled. He was exceptionally tall, at least six feet (probably more since I was wearing heels), and built like a professional soccer player. What really made him stand out, more than the perfect suit, the flawless dark hair, and the air of authority that seemed to surround him, was the fact that, other than two men by his sides, he was completely alone. Unlike the other men in the gallery, there was no woman by his side, perfectly done up and clinging to his every word. In fact, the look on his face seemed to be one of plain disinterest and maybe boredom. I couldn't help but be intrigued.