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1617 Words
Ramirez Gonzales.
Steel and Smoke.
It is one of my bars, one that serves as my primary establishment. I see it as a central hub where I can oversee the heart of my assets. From here, I keep a close eye and monitor Southeast’s largest casino, Gambit. I call her my first born. The first time I had real money, I used it to buy a huge plot of land, one nobody believed I could turn into anything. I was twenty when I began to build it. And when I was done, Gambit stood as the largest casino anyone had ever seen in the Southeast.
I started her with several partners, but eventually, I cut them off and took on the responsibility myself. They were dead weight—couldn’t see the vision the way I did.
As soon as I’m through the door, two men in matching uniforms rush toward me. The twins, Mateo and Mark Delgado, are my head of security. It used to be hard to tell them apart apart—same dark hair, same sharp jawlines—but I know them well enough by now.
Mateo is the head of security here, the enforcer who keeps things running smoothly on the floor, making sure no one gets out of line. Mark handles the books of the Casino, keeping track of up to date cash flow, inventory, and, more importantly, the money that moves under the table.
"Boss," they say in unison, and it’s almost eerie how in sync they are.
"Round up the staffs.” I say, barely lifting my voice.
One hand is tucked into my pocket while the other holds a cigarette between my fingers. I puff smoke into the air and start heading towards the meeting area. There, leather chairs surround a long, glass-topped table—none of that cheap s**t.
I slouch into one of the chairs, sinking back, cigarette still in hand. My fingers tap against the armrest as I listen to the twins bark out orders. The sound of scurrying feet from the bar reaches my ears, and the staff scramble to gather in front of me like scared little mice.
"Afternoon, sir!" they say in unison.
I lean forward, pressing the cigarette into the ashtray with a slow twist, snuffing it out. The room is silent except for that faint hiss as it dies. I look up, meeting their nervous stares one by one.
"Divide yourselves." I say. "Bartenders on one side, managers, cooks on the other. Bouncers and security, accounting department, and… cleaners."
They hesitate for a second, unsure of that I’m asking…glancing at each other. But then, like clockwork, they start moving, shuffling into their places. Some of them look like they’re still figuring out where they belong, but it doesn’t matter.
“Hello, I am Ramirez...”
“I run this place. Every inch of it, from the bar to the head office, is mine. If you’re here, you work for me now. You follow my rules, you meet my standards, or you walk. Simple as that."
I let silence stretch out before I speak again. "This isn't just a bar. It's part of something bigger, and every move you make reflects on me. So, make the right ones. If you have no questions, you can head back to your duties.”
They nod, clearly avoiding eye contact. One by one, they move, trying to escape my gaze as if would burn them. As the last person steps out, a familiar figure appears at the doorway.
Anita strides in. She is a friend—a friend with benefit I mean. We've known each other since the days when I was scraping the bottom of the barrel in the underworld. I knew her through her father, a good friend, who is a South Snake like mine was.
She is wearing high leather pants that clings to her long legs. Her blonde hair cascades in waves down her back, and a mischievous glint plays on her lips as we make eye contact. High cheekbones, full lips, and mischievous intents.
“The meeting’s over.” I voice in a flat tone. Yet, her smirk widens.
She swirls onto chair next to me, crossing one leg over the other.
“I heard your orders from the door, sir," she teases, “Did you see the invoice I sent you?”
“I did.” I reply, not giving much away.
“And how was home? What were their reaction?" Anita asks curiously.
I think about it for a moment so I can state exactly how I feel it. “It was… as expected.”
“Was there anything you didn’t expect?” Anita indulges.
Definitely. A faint curve happens to my mouth before I reply.
It is that girl, the one whose name I still remember, Ariel. The Collison that happened between us at the store and at the complex are two different things. But one of it left me with some kind of heat that I shouldn’t even be having for a youngling like her.
Anita gasps. “What is making you grin?”
The grin in question leaves my face as quick as I can send it away.
I exhale, “Nothing.”
“Well,” Anita says, placing her hands on my shoulders. Intentionally, her fingers curl into my shirt as she swings one leg over and settles herself on my lap, facing me. I watch as her lips curve into that familiar smirk—small but suggestive.
“Well, I have missed you," she says, low and sultry. Her legs part wider as she inches closer, pressing against me. “And I know you’re going to say it’s only been a day, but I swear, I miss you every second." She leans down, planting a kiss on my neck while one of her hands slides lower, brushing over my groin.
“Anita—” My body stiffens at her touch.
“What?” She asks.
“Get off me.” I sigh.
“Do you not even miss me? Do you not even—”
“Anita,” I exhale.
“So? I can’t demand s*x from you but I must give you when you ask?”
“More so. Get off my c**k, please.”
Just as her lips hover near mine, someone steps in.
"Boss..." Mark’s voice cuts, abrupt and awkward.
Anita groans in frustration, pulling away from me. She glares over her shoulder at Mark like she’s about to rip into him.
"Seriously?" she snaps in irritation.
Mark stutters, coughing nervously. "Um..."
“What?” I say, rising on my feet and straightening my pants.
“Someone wants to speak to you on the phone.” Mark says, handing it over and I collect it.
I don’t spare a glance at Anita. Walking out, I place the phone against my ear and I begin to speak to the person at the other end of the line. It turns out to be my lawyer and friend, Richard.
“Yes,” I say, using my hands to signal her to leave. Annoyed, she walks past me.
“Yes, Richard?” I answer.
“Have you seen the apartment complex at Fourth street?” He asks, obviously walking by the sound of his breathing and the wind passing by.
“Yea. I checked the building yesterday. It’s gonna need a lot of renovations and a lot of eviction.” I reply.
“You bet it. I need the legal papers.” Richard adds.
Shit. The papers are back home.
“I’m about to come into make my way to Steel and Smoke. Are you in?”
“No, meet me at the family house instead. I left it at home.” I say, grabbing my keys from the table. As I head out, Anita bumps into me.
“Are you going somewhere?” “You just got here.” She asks.
“I forgot something,” I mutter and she follows, her heels clicking against the floor.
“Let me come with you!” she says, not even asking—just deciding. She catches up quickly, and soon we’re walking side by side, though I don’t slow my pace.
I unlock the doors of my car which is gleaming in the sunlight—an emblem of power. I slide into the driver’s seat while Anita gracefully slips into the passenger side. The engine roars to life, vibrating through us as I grip the wheel, eyes ahead.
After fifteen minutes, I pull near the store and my car glides to a stop. It’s a small neighbourhood, and every eye is on the vehicle as I park. I can feel their gazes burn into the sleek black paint.
Anita is talking beside me, but her voice fades as I slam the door behind me. My focus is on grabbing the papers before Richard shows up.
As I walk through the gate of the family house, I see my uncles, standing stiffly at the door, like they’ve been waiting for me. But what catches my attention is the man standing beside them.
The bastard my mother married after my father died.
He’s right there, solid and real. I could punch him if I wanted.
Just as I take another step, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn, and there she is—Ariel, stepping in from the gate. Her presence hits me like a cold wind. I say nothing—except I notice how I always hesitate in her presence.
“Go back to where you are coming from!” Patrick yells, the veins on his forehead are so stark that I can only chuckle.
- Writer
