Prevail - [Charles Leclerc]

Deux

          "Happy birthday, darling." Charles looked up from his laptop as he was seated behind the large desk. A smile curled his lips when he saw his mother entering his office, which used to be his father's. "Thanks, mom," Charles replied. Pascale approached his desk, looking down at her son who was dressed in a neat Armani suit, the buttons of the jacket opened. "I hope you're not too caught up in work," she spoke up again. Charles shook his head. "I'll be finished before dinner," he replied. "And I won't be late for the dinner at Bagatelle," Charles added. They had booked the whole restaurant Bagatelle in the center of Monte Carlo tonight, for his family, friends and close partners who were joining them. "Great," Pascale nodded contently. "Your twenty-fourth is special," she sighed, her fingers leaning against the dark mahogany. Charles waved it away. "Just like my twenty-third and my twenty-fifth. Age is just a number," he said. Pascale let her eyes glide over his face for a second, and she nodded again. "I have a gift for you, before I will leave you to your work again," Pascale said, revealing the box she had carried and hidden behind her back.

Charles' eyebrows rose, his eyes widening a little with surprise. His mother placed the box on his desk. "Take your time," she smiled, and she turned around to leave his office. Charles heard the door clicking in its lock, and he reached for the box he had been looking at for the past minute. The box was dusty, and he wondered what could be in it. He took the lid off, and there was some paper filling in there. He lifted the paper and on a soft cushion laid a white gun with gold-plated details, the weapon of their crew carved into the handle. Charles drifted his eyes over the weapon, and rested them on his father's initials that were carved on the underside, very little. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Charles learned about the death of his father when he was eight years old, and by the time he properly understood how things worked between mafia crews and this world he grew up in, he knew that it was no simple accident that happened. Now he's leading, he's doing all the research he can to find out who killed his father, because that person is going to pay for it. Charles wrapped his finger around the gun, it felt slightly heavy in his hand, but the weight was comfortable at the same time.

He let his fingertips glide over the weapon and unlocked the mag, reaching into the drawers of his desk to get a full one, and he clicked it into the gun. A soft chuckle left his lips, he loved the gift, absolutely. There was a handwritten note in the box, and he picked it up. His mother wrote that Hervé would have wanted him to have this. Charles smiled at the gesture, his heart clenching slightly together in his chest. He had great guidance over the years, but he still missed the father figure of the family. Charles had taken that task when his oldest brother, Lorenzo, left the house, and he soon took care of Arthur. He grinned at the thought of his handsome little brother, who was bravely flirting with the girls at the crew's club. Their voices were nearly identical, and Charles and his friends always chuckled a little when the girls discovered it was Arthur instead of Charles. He looked forward to their dinner tonight, which would be joined by a lot of their inner circle. Charles got rid of the box, and he tucked the gun in his holster, replacing the weapon he usually used, knowing he would never want to use another thing again.

Working on his birthday wasn't exactly planned, but at the same time his mother was used to it. There weren't many days off, and Charles was just busy. Pascale told her son about the times when the crew was struggling, but they came back around, and it was financially very healthy ever since Charles was seated on the throne. He got a great circle of partners he trusted, and he felt quite relaxed, not too overworked. Charles took a sip of his coffee that had turned cold by now, and he shoved the cup further away from his laptop while he continued the emails he was working on. As he promised his mother, he wouldn't be working till too late, and he closed his laptop about an hour later. Charles closed the door of his office behind himself, his men at the door greeting him with a short nod as he went upstairs. The maids had already laid out the new, measured suit he's supposed to wear for the dinner. He undressed himself in his bedroom, and his fingers briefly brushed over the fine material of the button-up shirt. Charles freshened up under the shower, he hesitated if he wanted to shave or not.