Housewife

I hate it when Irena gets drunk.

When she finds comfort and happiness in the indulgence of liquor.

With my seat tucked in the shadowy corner of the poker room, my glass of whiskey was my only company. But as the liquid amber danced like fire in the dim light, my thoughts were far from content. The mere mention of Irena’s wild drinking habits was enough to make my blood boil. It was a stab in my heart when I would come home to see her slurring her words and stumbling about. Each whiff of alcohol reminded me of my own painful past, a shadow that followed me with each wobbling step she took. I had tried to discuss it with her, but it felt as if my words were just another matchstick in the never-ending rift that sat between us, letting it grow until the flames erupted into an eruption of hot-headedness.

It wasn’t just the physical toll her drinking took on her, but the emotional toll it took on me. Her drinking reminds me of my mother, the very same woman who had neglected me when I was just a little boy growing up in a place I couldn’t call home.

I knew I couldn’t control her behaviour, but it didn’t stop me from feeling angry and resentful towards her. I had tried to be patient and understanding, but it seemed like she was intent on pushing him to his breaking point.

The sound of glasses clinking and voices rising around me only added to my frustration. I knew I needed to find a way to deal with my trauma and the anger it caused me, but for now, I would sit in silence, nursing my drink, lost in my own thoughts and memories.

The dimly lit room was filled with the sound of shuffling cards and the occasional clink of chips as the men huddled around the table, their eyes locked in fierce concentration. As the game progressed, the atmosphere in the room became increasingly intense, each player eyeing their opponents suspiciously and silently sizing them up.

Abel, a seasoned poker player who had been in the game for years, had a noticeably calm demeanour, expertly concealing any signs of emotion that might give his opponents a clue as to what he was holding. His eyes expertly traced the flow of the game, taking note of every move his opponents made as he plotted his own next move.

Don, a business partner of mine that invests in my clubs and restaurants has a bold and brash newcomer to the game who made his moves with reckless abandon, throwing caution to the wind as he carelessly tossed his chips into the pot. His inexperience and impulsive nature made the others wary, but they couldn’t deny the fact that he did occasionally pull off a stunning bluff.

Roy, a sharp-witted and cunning player, held his cards close to his chest, his piercing gaze never leaving the faces of his opponents as he took note of every nuance, every tic that might give him a clue to what we held in our hands. He knew just when to bluff and just when to fold, using his quick mind and honed instincts to stay one step ahead of the curve.

As the game drew on, the stakes grew higher, each man becoming more and more invested in the outcome, our determination to win etched upon our faces. Alliances were formed and broken, bluffs were called, and folds were made as the game gradually came to a close. In the end, the victor emerged, triumphant after hours of intense play.

But beyond the game itself, there was a story to be told, a tale of the complex interplay between us, our personalities, and our motivations. The poker table was a microcosm of the world around us, a world of strategy and risk, where skill and luck collide and where anything can happen. In describing the game, we must not simply focus on the mechanics of the play, but delve deeper into ourselves and motivations, for it is within these details that the true heart of the story lies.

As we sat in the dimly lit room, the conversation turned to the topic of the mafia. ‘Have you ever had any run-ins with them?’ Don questioned Roy.

Abel glances in my direction and I play it cool with my cool poker face.

Now I have two lives in the business world. One where I run the most feared criminal gang in all of France and one where I am known as a self-made billionaire.

The people that I have invited are just me sugarcoating them so that they can like me more and participate in my new working project that will be happening in Germany. I’m expanding my company.

But in reality, I am actually expanding my territory to where I undercover transport arms and drugs.

They obviously don’t know that.

Kai took a long swig of his drink before responding. ‘I try to stay out of their business as much as possible. But you can never be too careful. They have their hands in everything around here.’

True.

Roy chirped in, ‘I heard they’re ruthless. They don’t mess around when it comes to getting what they want.’

I nod in agreement. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard stories about how they handle their enemies. It’s not pretty.’ I lie and notice from the corner of my eyes how Abel is fighting back a smile.

Don leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘And you can’t even go to the police for help. They’re just as scared of the mafia as we are.’

Abel lets out a small laugh beside me and all heads turn to face him. He disguises his laugh with a cough. “My apologies. I caught something in my throat.” he lies and I roll my eyes.

The conversation continued, with them sharing their own stories and rumours about the mafia and its operations. They talked about the power that the mafia wielded in the city and how they seemed untouchable. Abel and I just sat there agreeing to everything and the foolish assumptions they claim that happen in the mafia.

But underlying their fear was a sense of fascination with the mafia’s culture and mystique. They discussed the iconic figure of the mob boss, with his sharp suits and intimidating demeanour. They talked about the code of honour that the mafia supposedly lived by, and how it contrasted with the violent acts they were known for.

The conversation grew more animated. But they never lost sight of the fact that the mafia was a dangerous force to be reckoned with. They knew that violence and intimidation were the currency of the mafia, and that crossing them could lead to dire consequences.

In the end, a newfound respect for the power of the mafia was born within the room, but also a sense of unease about how close they were to its reach.

They knew that the shadowy world of organized crime was always lurking just beneath the surface, ready to ensnare the unwary.

As the door creaked open, every pair of eyes in the room turned to get a glimpse of what could possibly be the source of the commotion. All conversation came to a halt, as each man stood stock still, their eyes fixed on the vision that had just walked into the room. It was Irena.

Her skin was a perfect blend of caramel and cream, contributing to her unmatched beauty. Clad in a flowing white dress, she looked like a vision straight from a fairy tale. The dress hugged her curves in all the right places, accentuating her flawlessly sculpted figure. Her long, dark locks cascaded down her back, a stark contrast to the pure white fabric of her dress. She was nothing short of breathtaking, and all who laid eyes on her were instantly captivated by her radiance.

The men in the room could feel their hearts racing, as they tried to come to terms with the presence of Irena. She had a commanding presence that demanded attention, and there was no doubt that she had the power to turn the tables. It was as if the room had been split in two, with the men standing on one side, and Irena standing on the other. A sense of unease crept up the spines of all the men in the room, as they tried to guess what she was thinking.

For a few moments, no one said anything, their eyes locked onto Irena’s form. It was as if she had cast a spell on them, her very presence sapping the confidence out of them. The quiet was deafening, and the men stood in stunned silence as they tried to figure out what to do next. Some took a step back, while others stood frozen in place, unsure of what was expected of them.

Some of the men were squirming in their seats or shifting their positions anxiously, others were trying to seem nonchalant but failing miserably as they fidgeted with their ties or sleeves. There was an unspoken tension that hung heavy in the atmosphere, seemingly brought on by the mere presence of this enigmatic woman.

One could observe the distinct change in the atmosphere as the room fell silent, and the men seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to see what she would do next. It was as if they were all under a spell, completely captivated by her presence, yet unable to discern why.

The moment Irena entered the room with a tray of delectable snacks, a sudden surge of possessiveness coursed through my veins, making my heart race. She shifted uncomfortably as she placed the tray in the middle of the table, and that’s when Roy, in his typical boorish manner, slapped her on the ass, causing her to let out a startled scream. All eyes were on her in an instant, and the once-bustling room fell silent. But before anyone could say anything, Roy chuckled and picked up a block of cheese from the platter.

‘My, my, who is this pretty little maid?’ he asked, eyeing Irena up and down.

‘That’s my wife, Roy,’ I said, my tone icy cold, barely suppressing my fury.

With gritted teeth, I watched as anger and possessiveness seeped through my entire body. Under the table, I felt my fingers curl around the cold, metallic surface of the gun – a last resort for emergencies like this. Roy’s smug smile faded slightly as he sensed the change in the atmosphere.

“Oh, wow she certainly does not look like the woman I expected you to marry,” he uttered with a chuckle. I, too, forced myself to laugh along with him, as did the other gentlemen in attendance, with the exception of Abel.

Irena looked on awkwardly as the rest of us erupted in laughter.

‘Roy,’ I bellowed, raising my gun and taking aim at his head before pulling the trigger. Blood plastered the wall and table as Roy’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground. The once-lively room fell silent as the other men gaped in disbelief, their faces drained of colour and their expressions conveying utter terror.

The group collectively turned to face me, their countenances now riddled with fear.

“What?” I question.

“Y-you just killed a man in cold blood.” He states fearfully. I place the gun on the table, adjusting myself to the seat.

‘Just a friendly reminder,’ I spoke softly, my tone laced with venom, ‘to watch your words when it comes to my wife.’

I chuckle to myself, tracing the rim of my glass with the tip of my finger.

“We are ruthless and we do get whatever we want.” As Roy’s words triggered a realization in their minds, Don succumbed to nausea and vomited violently, staining the floor with chunks of his dinner. Abel winced, while Irena stood by the door, crinkling her nose in disgust.

‘Jesus fucking Christ’ I muttered under my breath.

Kai tried to speak, but his words came out as incoherent gibberish. ‘Don’t bother, Kai,’ I interrupted, taking a sip of the fiery liquor that scorched my throat. ‘I won’t kill you. Not unless you give me a reason to.’

Don wiped his mouth, trembling with embarrassment as he tried to regain his composure. I rubbed my temples, feeling the headache creeping in.

If losing one of my most prized investors due to a foolish mistake wasn’t enough, now they all knew about my ties to the mafia. This night had turned into an utter disaster.

Curiosity creeps through me like a thief in the night. How will their faces contort when they discover the truth of my role?

‘Kai, clean the tiles from your piss, the maids will be overwhelmed with Don’s puke,’ Abel blurts out, abandoning his chair in a swift motion.

Tugging off his leather jacket and smoothing back his hair, he levels a reproachful gaze in my direction. ‘As usual, I’m left to clean up your mess.’

With a sigh, he whips out his cel ular device, navigating to his calls.

‘Zoltan, I need you at Saint’s home, accompanied by the morticians,’ he conveyed before ending the call.

He then directed his attention towards the two apprehensive individuals.

‘Please accept my apologies on behalf of my sibling,’ Abel paused, glancing at the lifeless body of Roy, ‘and him,’ as he indicated towards Roy with a nod of his head.

Observing the situation, I stood up from my seat.

‘It goes without saying that his wife will inquire about his sudden disappearance and demand a search party. But for now, the only facts are that you two shared a cordial game of poker and wished each other goodnight.

That’s the tale we’re sticking to. Because if word leaks out that he’s been murdered, rest assured, I’ll be coming for each and every one of your family members, until you’re attending more funerals than birthdays. Clear?’ I proclaim. Their heads nod in unison, sweat beading on their foreheads, and wide-eyed in fear.

‘Excellent. Abel, you take care of the necessary arrangements, I’ll attend to my wife.’ I gesture to Irena and open the door, escorting her out.

We strode down the hal way, my hand grasping the doorknob with a swift click as I forced it shut behind us. Irena was already several steps ahead, closing in on the kitchen, her heels punctuating the silence with each click on the hard tile floor. I quickened my pace to catch up, her words hanging in the air like the acrid scent of burnt metal.

‘You had no right to kill him.’ Her voice carried across the room, slicing through my thoughts like a serrated knife. I leaned casually against the counter, the cold metal piercing my skin as I reached for a bottle of water, my thirst parching my throat like desert sands.

‘But he touched you. You hate to be touched.’ I shrugged, the water half-gone in a single swig as my eyes locked onto hers. ‘He had it coming, getting too close to what’s mine.’ The words tumbled out of my mouth with a force that left no room for argument.

Irena resolutely crossed her arms, making her chest jut out from the confines of her dress. I quickly jolted my eyes back up to meet hers and arched an eyebrow. ‘Death seems a steep punishment for his transgression.

Killing every man that lays a hand on me is not the answer,’ she exclaimed, her voice etched with protest.

With an air of intrigue, I gingerly stuck out my tongue, licked my lips, and moved closer towards her. Standing a mere inches away from her face, I towered over her curvy frame, and the tension between us grew darker with each passing moment.

‘What did I tell you the first time someone dared to touch you?’ I asked with a low, menacing tone. Irena’s breathing deepened, and she nervously flicked her tongue across her lips as our eyes continued to lock in an intense, unspoken battle.

“You have me – body, mind, and soul – and no one will ever take that away from you. No man will ever lay a hand on me or even so much as smile in my direction without answering to you.” My lips curl into a grin as I nod, feeling a sense of possessive desire burning within. Irena was mine and nobody else’s.

Irena drills her fiery gaze into me, her eyes ablaze with unmistakable fury.

‘We’re going to set something straight, Saint,’ she seethes, jabbing a finger pointedly at my chest. I meet her piercing stare and hold it, unflinching.

‘I don’t belong to anyone – not to men I encounter, not to you, not to my uncles,’ she declared with fiery conviction. I couldn’t help but admire her strength, even as she attempted to exert her dominance over me.

My response was a simple grunt, which she took as compliance. However, I couldn’t resist a small smirk that tugged at the corners of my mouth. I tilted my head, watching her with a ghostly smile, enjoying the tension of our unspoken power struggle.

“Understood?”

“Yes ma’am.”

My intriguing response left Irena visibly stunned. Her brow furrowed with suspicion, but deep down she knew the truth – she belonged to me. However, as usual, my precious Doe denied it. With a subtle nod, Irena retreated, giving me a fleeting glance before disappearing from the kitchen.

Moments later, Abel strolled in and didn’t mince his words. ‘You fucked up,’ he bluntly announced. I let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Thanks for the reminder, mother dearest,’ I quipped, the frustration seeping out. ‘But I know where I went wrong, Abel,’ I reassured him as he took a seat on a stool, rolling his eyes in response.

‘I mentioned that they are unlikely to speak about what they witnessed,’

I say, to which Abel lets out a sigh. ‘That may be true, but the experience seemed to have traumatized them greatly. I don’t think we’ll be able to hold poker night for a while.’ He expresses his confusion.

I scrunch my nose in disagreement as I turn towards him. ‘We have bigger issues to tackle, and you’re worrying about poker night?’ I ask. Abel takes a moment to ponder before confirming, ‘Yes.’

Although I wanted to object, I refrained from speaking and remained silent as I came to the realization that there was no use.

We fall into a period of silence, deep in thought. Suddenly, I break the silence, stating, ‘I need you to help me out with something.’ Abel manoeuvres to face me and inquires, ‘What is it?’

‘I want you to conduct some extensive research on Irena; I have this feeling that there’s more to her than meets the eye.”