IN LOVE WITH THE RUTHLESS MAFIA KING

Arie

I rush down the stairs to the subway, maneuvering around the heavy crowds of people as quickly as I can.

New York is a beautiful city, but holy crap!! is it ridiculously busy? - All the time.

"Excuse me!" I exclaim as I continue squeezing past person after person, reaching the end and rushing around the corner to the next set of stairs.

I seriously don't have the stamina for this shit.

Clutching my purse tightly, I pace down the final flight, holding my breath when I feel a side stitch coming on. Pressing my hand against my hip, I skip the final step and run onto the platform.

The sound of a train departing steals my attention and my eyes widen as I catch a glimpse of it driving away. Shit.

I release a deep sigh, trying to catch my breath as I stand on the platform, watching my train disappear down the tracks.

Feeling various eyes on me, I look at them, giving a what the hell do you want to stare, before turning around and running a hand through my long blonde hair.

Relying on public transport all the time can be a real pain in the ass.

It's my fault though, I should've taken my driving lessons when I had the chance, but I guess I was so occupied with college that I convinced myself I didn't have the time for anything else.

Making my way down to the other end of the platform, I glance up at the small screen to check what time the next train arrives. I know they usually run every five minutes or so.

The weather at this time of year isn't exactly the warmest. January temperatures can be a real bitch, and they're even worse when you have to stand among the cold walls of a New York subway at six o'clock in the fricking evening.

Fisting my hand into the inside pocket of my jacket, I take out the small invitation leaflet I received in the mail the other week. When I initially enrolled in college to study photography, it was always my goal to achieve the best I could.

After graduating with honours and one hundred and twenty credits, I decided I was going to try my hand at starting up my own photography business. Freelancing is something I've often looked into while studying, but I never truly believed it could be possible.

Until now.

I couldn't believe my luck when I opened the invitation for tonight in the mail. Gallery by Damon is one of the most popular art galleries in the city of New York.

They're hosting one of the biggest exhibitions tonight and I received an invite for it. Me. Little ol' Arie Evenden who finished college a mere two months ago.

Apparently, my work during my studies caught the attention of a few dealers and other associates in the photography field, and the owners of Gallery by Damon wanted me to come down and be a part of the event.

Countless VIP's and other business people will be attending tonight, in the hopes of viewing and potentially bidding on some of the finest pieces of art you can get your hands on.

The sound of an oncoming train brings me back to reality as I step back from the edge, waiting for it to come to a stop.

Thankfully the journey to my stop isn't that far and before I know it, I'm getting off the train and heading out of the station.

I reach into my pocket and check my phone for the time, chewing on the inside of my mouth when I realize the event has already started. The one thing I seriously didn't want to do was turn up late, but here we are... turning up late.

After walking two blocks, I spot the gallery. Dozens of cars parked outside, most of them costing more than my goddamn life insurance. I glance down at my outfit, my eyes running over my black tights, black dress, and heels.

I had to google the kind of outfit I was supposed to wear before I even accepted the invitation to this place. The last thing I wanted to do was not look appropriate enough.

I'm still a young girl learning my trade, after all.

One day I suppose it will all come second nature to me, but for now, a little bit of research here and there won't hurt.

Opening my purse, I take out my Christian Dior perfume and spray it onto my wrists and neck, giving myself a little touch-up. My perfume; a gift I received from my parents for my twenty-first birthday last Thursday.

Feeling a little more refreshed, I make my way towards the main entrance and show the doorman my invitation and ID. I can't help but feel anxious when I show my ID, even though I have no idea why because it's me in the picture.

Once I'm inside, I try my best to fit in and relax as much as possible. The gallery itself is very busy, with men in black tie and women in beautiful dresses. Smartly dressed servers roam the open space, offering complimentary drinks and food.

The art surrounding me is incredible. The intricate details of photography and paintings never cease to amaze me, but this is on another level.

I don't even want to begin to imagine the money some of these will bring in. The people here must be of considerable wealth if they're willing to bid on some of these pieces.

After a while of wandering around and viewing a few different pieces, I come across a middle-aged man and woman who engage in conversation with me, making me feel more comfortable in the still unfamiliar setting.

They introduced themselves as Ricardo and Vivian Carter and apparently, they own an antiques store in Brooklyn. They also explained that attending these kinds of functions isn't anything new to them, this actually being the third one this month alone.

Ricardo introduces me to some people, telling them that I'm a recently graduated photographer who's freelancing. He essentially recommends me even though he doesn't even know me.

I feel myself growing slightly embarrassed by his kindness. I accidentally meet his wife's gaze, who smiles warmly at me.

After spending another few minutes being introduced to various people, we find ourselves sitting down at one of the seating areas, a drink in each of our hands.

"So who's that?" I ask, directing my attention over to a woman in a dark green dress as she speaks to a man while they stand by one of the photographs.

Ricardo follows my gaze. "That's Annalise Dziecko." He replies. "Well-known art dealer throughout the streets of New York and countless other places across the country."

Pursing my lips, I nod my head slowly as I absorb the information, glancing around the room as I scan the various faces.

His wife, Vivian, points to two men who appear to be identical twins. "That's Jayce and Davis Noelle," she explains. They attend almost every exhibition like this. They are very wealthy men."

They appear wealthy too. Visibly expensive Rolexes on their wrists, which even I can decipher from where I'm currently sitting. Even their shoes look like they've been polished by the most expensive products on the planet.

My eyes continue roaming the room until they eventually settle on someone else, who seems to steal all of my attention more than anyone else has so far.

"And who's that?" I ask, gesturing to the ridiculously handsome man standing across the room while he engages in conversation with two women.

His black suit, neatly presented tie, and jet-black hair are striking. The stubble around his jaw, the noticeable tattoos on his large hands. Even from this distance, I just know that everything about him screams power and authority.

"Who, him?" Ricardo asks and I nod, tilting my head slightly with curiosity.

"Yeah," I mumble.

He clears his throat. "That's Diego Russo, ma'am."