There are things your elders can see sitting down that you, as a youth can't see even if you're stood up. My mom used to tell me that all the time when I asked her the reason for telling me no to something silly I'd requested.
I did not truly appreciate that adage until I woke up on this here Saturday morning. The first rays of daylight crept into the room, as I hadn't had an opportunity to close the curtains the night before. I was pretty high up, and had a decent view of the city.
The pains south of my belly button prevented me from appreciating it. I instead groaned, muttering to myself. For a split second, I'd forgotten last nights shenanigans, before it all came flooding back.
Goddamn.
Part of me had been scared that he would be a bad lay. A rough, selfish and inconsiderate lover, who cared only about one thing. I went on to learn through first hand experience, that this couldn't be further from the truth. Memories of sights, sounds and flavours were at the forefront of my mind, being played for my perusal like a recap of last weeks episode of Euphoria. He was just on the right side of relentless, stamina unyielding.
I understood it now.
All the R&B songs of the last decade of last century, crooned by grown women professing their love for a man who didn't deserve it. The stories I heard from my hair clients of how they had committed property damage, ruined their credit or even took a charge for the man of their affections.
They were suspended in the bondage of good dick.
I remembered a particularly emphatic client of mine, who always had a tale of some exploit she'd been on between sets of ass-length box braids. She committed grievous bodily harm against others, lied to her pastor and even got wrote up for indecent exposure, all behind a bum-ass, no-good-ass nigga. And he wasn't even fine. I could see our most recent conversation in my mind's eye; with time, I learned to interject with appropriate reactions and otherwise keep it moving. I thought to myself that it could never be me. I was still convinced it couldn't, but her case became a lot more compelling overnight.
Having had enough of thinking about it, I got out of bed, or at least made an attempt to. I must have looked like Bambi on ice. Once I was finally able to stand upright, I quickly learned that I would not be able to do so for very long. I was bent over slightly at the waist, with my knees slightly bent as well. My hand were on my thighs, and all of this was in an effort to keep the tremor in my legs at bay. My pussy and surrounding areas were thumping. And not in the fun way.
By the sheer will of God, I made it to the bathroom, where my first priority was running a nice steaming bath. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and nearly wept. I looked like a rag doll, heavy on the rag. My hair was all over the place, with the parts closest to my scalp looking like they'd never even encountered a flat iron. Instead of spending time being angry at something I couldn't change, I utilised the waiting period to brush my teeth, before slipping to the sleek tub of the modern bathroom. As muscles soaked, I couldn't help about how last night had ended. Aftercare was not something I expected from him, he didn't strike me as the caring kind of guy. He didn't do much, but what he did do was appreciated.
I'm glad I had enough sense not to embarrass myself by asking him to stay, or cuddle or do anything else with me during my post-coital mind fog. However, him taking his leave so quickly stung me in a place I chose to ignore instead of pay any more mind. It was for the best really, as I couldn't have bared the humiliation of having to reenact a baby reindeer gliding on ice for his viewing pleasure.
He set off a competitiveness in me that I had yet to discover. I had never been a person who needed the gratification of winning to survive. Yet I found myself in more moment than one going against my first instinct and continuing on with him. He even gave me an out, but I couldn't give in. The last orgasm was definitely worth it, but if he wanted to this on the regular for 100 days, I would have to start doing Pilates or Yoga. Something to give me more stamina and flexibility. To align my chakras before he came back and scattered them all of the place again.
That nigga was not playing.
The water became tepid, so I went about draining the tub and jumped in the shower. My beloved shower cap did not make an appearance.
Once I was finished with cleansing my body and washing my hair, I made quick work of moisturising my body and getting dressed, settling on a tank top and some shorts. I used an old T-Shirt instead of a towel to dry my hair, and wrap it, remembering a young lady advising to do so on YouTube. I couldn't quite put my finger on what she said was the reason but it had long become second nature. I didn't intend on leaving my hair like this for long. I would have to blow it out again today, wrap it and flat iron it tomorrow. That was a tip I had learned from a hair stylist I'd brushed shoulders with. Waiting between applications of heat allowed for all of the water in the hair shaft to dry out and resulted in a flatter, longer lasting press. And isn't that what we're all in search of?
As I thought about the arm strength it would take to do that so soon, I released I would need sustenance first. The place came fully stocked with food and adjacent items required for its preparation, so I shuffled my way to the medium sized kitchen, dreaming up a delicious little breakfast sandwich in the meantime.
Nothing could have prepared me to see the back of a man's body, hovering around the kitchen. The suit and low haircut told me the identity of the unexpected guest, and my hand went to my heart, willing it to calm down.
He did not turn around to face me, but greeted me anyway. "Good Morning, Vanessa"
I did a mental assessment of the circumstances. Although my role wasn't restricted to the confines of Monday to Friday, Angelo had told me yesterday evening that my services wouldn't be required today.
His motives were soon revealed when he reached down, opening the oven and producing breakfast wrap of some sort.
Not exactly what I wanted, but close enough.
I was under no impression that he had made it, or procured it himself, but I couldn't help the soft smile that fell across my lips.
I returned his earlier greeting, adding an expression of gratitude before taking the food and sitting down on the couch to eat.
He chose to lean against the wall on my right, observing me while I consumed it like it was my last meal. I couldn't even muster up the decorum to take smaller bites. I wasn't eating sloppily, but with intent and purpose. I was fucking hungry, and he of all people should know why!
When I had stuffed my face sufficiently, I turned my head to bring him to the centre of my view and asked, "Thank you for the food, but what are you doing here?"
My voice was soft, confusion apparent from the inflection of my words.
He gave a short chuckle before informing me, "I came here to check up on you. You didn't pick up your phone when I called, and I wanted to make sure you hadn't fallen and were unable to get up."
I was taking him seriously at first, listening intently, until he insinuated that he had been the response to my imaginary life alert.
"I'll have you know I did not fall even once this morning!"
He laughed before pointing out, "Maybe not, but you've been limping, no?"
A squint of my eyes was all the response I chose to gratify that observation with. I'd been in the trenches, fighting for my life, so he didn't get to make fun of my battle scars.
A quick think back to the alleged reason for his trip back to this apartment revealed the location of my phone to my mind's eye. It was in my coat pocket. In my impromptu efforts to recreate the ending scene of Beyoncé's Dance For You music video, I'd forgotten to take it out and into the bedroom with me. I went and retrieved it wordlessly, trying to my best to perform as normal a walk as possible. Once the screen lit up, I indeed saw a missed call from him. About 3 hours ago, making it somewhere around 8am he had placed it.
I don't know why he thought I would have been awake.
Returning to the communal space, I reclaimed my seat and once again bestowed my attention to the man co-occupying the space with me.
He let me know that he would have Vince send along some audio files to a laptop, I just now spotted, perched on the coffee table. I would have the joy of interpreting hours of chatter, of one of the recording devices that had been placed into some nook or cranny, somewhere in one of his restaurants. The men captured on the recordings had met there over a series of weeks, always speaking in hushed tones of Spanish, and the restaurants manager found it questionable enough to raise it.
At the right time presumably. Still trying to figure out what that is.
He wanted to know the contents of their conversation by the next working day, so I had my work cut out for me. While I was trying to determine how long this particular task would take, and what the most efficient way to go about it would be, I made the mistake of retreating into the recesses of my mind.
He moved like silence like g's in lasagna, or whatever Lil' Wayne said, and his close proximity to me was only announced by his hand finding its place along my throat. His approach was methodical, thumb and index finger finding my carotid arteries in either side of my jaw, while the pad of his hand protected my windpipe. I looked up, clearly startled by the action. His grip wasn't very firm, just enough to evoke the very beginnings of lust in me. He ran his thumb over my bottom lip, looking all over my face, watching as my widened eyes settled to a size just smaller than what they normally were. He had to have felt my sharp inhale. Once he was sure he had my attention he said "Don't miss my call again." His tone left no room for negotiations. I couldn't nod to tell him understood so I used my words. He had obviously gotten what he needed from the moment, because just like that he released his hold on me and made his way to the door.
He didn't bother with parting words, letting the locking mechanism of the door announce his departure.
I sat where he left me for longer than I'd like to admit, briefly touching my neck to make sure it was still there, I guess?
Okay, go and blow out your hair, and then get cracking with these tapes.
Eventually, I followed through on those thoughts.
I'd been lulled into a false sense of security.
I didn't know that the weekend that marked the commencement of my 100 day sentence, was the calm before the proverbial storm.
Between hair manipulations and speech interpretations, I took some time to really check myself before I wrecked myself. It was odd. I didn't know how I would feel, after officially exchanging sex for money. It was something I was raised to view with disdain, but as I made my foray into the working world, I just couldn't bring myself to see sex workers as the nefarious beings society made them out to be. It was a means to an end, and to some, empowering. There was a time even I considered swinging it on the pole for dubs, but there was no way I could have pulled it off under my father's roof. He had a bunch of jobs lined up for me already anyway, when I wasn't going to school, I was relegated working on some harebrained, half-backed scheme he insisted would be his jackpot.
I should have felt... dirty, used or repentant. At least that what society told me I should feel. Those emotions were no where to be found. I simply felt like I had rendered a service, as agreed between client and service provider. It was a bonus that I enjoyed myself, but more than anything, I felt relieved. Relieved that he seemed to have been pleased, if his heavy breathing in my ear during our round of horizontal tango was anything to go by.
Angelo was a complicated character. He was truly a Mafia man. He had a self esteem of elephantine proportions, and ruled with an iron fist. The existence of a consigliere was a necessity, not a tool he made use of. Ultimately, the final say was with him, and everyone fell in line. So far that approach had yielded success after success, demonstrated by his meteoric rise to notoriety in the city's tank of bad guys, but a rule like this could not last forever. I had read enough history books, filled to the brim with stories of men succumbing to the weight of their own arrogance, to allow me to predict this. That would be the chink in his amour I eventually went onto exploit. I didn't know it then but I had a lot more offer him than pussy and paper pushing.
I caught a glimpse of the man he seemed to be underneath his facade. A considerate, irreverent man, who had a sense of humour. I liked that guy, though I had a feeling that he was someone I would only get to cast my eyes on during the cover of night.
Coming into the building bright and early the following Monday, I made sure to have everything I was asked for and more on his desk before his arrival. A full transcript of the conversations had between the mystery men and a key denoting what I had been able to glean from the inflections, intonations and strange code system they used.
At first listen, they seemed to be discussing history and politics, making references to a number of historical figures and their exploits. That's almost the understanding I walked away with, until I really thought about what they were saying. I was a history buff, and knew my stuff.
The things they were saying were ahistorical. The sequence of events, dates and times were incorrect. Once I listened with that filter, I was quickly able to establish they were talking about setting somebody up. A coup d'état of sorts. I assumed they didn't know they were sat in the restaurant of a Mafioso, because although they were speaking quietly, they were uninhibited.
The things I had been able to gather formed the torso and legs of their plan. The head, hands and feet of the plot eluded me. For this reason, the project was shelved.
While I wasn't expecting a pat on head for the work I had done at such short notice, a simple thank you would have sufficed. I wasn't granted that though, instead, being literally snowed under with paperwork. At the centre of it, sat a meeting in a few weeks time to discuss the acquisition of some land on the outskirts of the city. I was tasked with counter referencing the 100 page report his property development guy had put together, making sure that it was all correct and accurate. I thought it was odd, the lot wasn't too far away from my house, and had been vacant for as long as I could remember.
It would turn out that I literally wouldn't have time to worry about it, as on top of that, I had a million other things to see to. Turns out there was a lot more to running a faction of a crime syndicate than sitting in a chair and ominously stoking a cat.
As the days progressed, we established a rhythm. I worked around the clock, on call for Angelo's every desire. When I wasn't doing research, I was organising a meeting, greeting some visitor, taking minutes, translating or going on food runs at scandalous times of night. Any time I had to myself was quickly occupied by him. We were banging like it was going out of fashion, and I was quickly running out of steam.
It got to a point I was relieved when last minute problems popped up. At least it meant I was would be typing fast, somewhere out of his line of fire, as opposed to getting folded like a pretzel. The sex was amazing, but everything in moderation was the key. And I ended up actually starting yoga and was considering jogging to build my flexibility and stamina.
Before I knew it, day 27 rolled around and by this time I'd settled into my role. I was just about done with the report, and I was proud of myself. I stuck with my initial cynicism and dug in, trying to understand why this supposedly lucrative lot of land had stood empty for so long. The information had been difficult to find, and I ended having to through the ringer to get my hands on archived newspapers dating back to before I was born.
Turns out the land was virtually undevelopable. Something to do with it being at risk of forming a sinkhole. Imagine my surprise when this bad boy piece of information wasn't in the report from the property developer. Nor was the fact that it changed ownership a number of times throughout the years, with the increments becoming smaller and smaller in recent years. That, again, was information I had to finesse to find, but nonetheless, I found it. It seemed like a game of hot potato was being played and I doubted Angelo particularly enjoyed handling lukewarm, starchy mush. With the stuff I put together, I was sure that he would call off the site visit and meeting tomorrow, and probably skin his property developer alive.
I gathered my files, and made my way downstairs with Raymond, headed for the main house, where our boss was waiting for us. I found him to be a kindred spirit, with us both being haunted by a childhood that had called for us to grow up before our time. He was a man of few words, but not out of choice. I learned that he hated his accent, and would take every opportunity to escape having to say anything.
At first, our exchanges were low in words and high in awkwardness, until I noticed the picture of a flag tucked away in his wallet. It was mostly green, with three horizontal stripes of white, red and white again going across the bottom. I'd seen it before, and it took me a couple of minutes until I remembered it to be the flag of the short lived republic of Chechnya, a country that had tried and failed to gain it's independence from Russia in the early 90s. I came across it in pure boredom, having fell down a rabbit hole of YouTube videos that ended in me watching a full fledged documentary about the nation.
I asked him whether he was from there, and saw his eyes light up. He was in absolute disbelief that I even knew of Chechnya, let alone was able to recognise its obscure flag. While we were on a car ride to God knows where, he told me his story. A man in his early 40s, he had grown up in a nation under constant martial law. Guerilla warfare was his version of playing out. He had been toting AK-47s since he was as tall as the assault weapon itself. His accent, which I thought was so cool, transformed me to a world very different to my own. He told me of how his family was killed by Russian forces for being leaders of the revolution, and about how he was smuggled out as a young man by the Russian Mafia, in exchange for becoming an enforcer. He did not divulge any details of that part of his life, and I didn't ask. I didn't need to.
Chechens are Muslim, and Raymond, or Raheem which I discovered was his real name, still observed the religion. Ramadan had commenced a few days ago, and I always made sure he had dates and a bottle of water to break his fast when iftar, the time to break fast, came around. I knew a little bit about Islam from general reading, but a few clicks on Google told me enough to allow me to make the small gesture of goodwill. He appreciated it a lot, and had begun taking it upon himself to teach me how to protect myself in exchange for my small token of kindness.
We settled into a comfortable silence in the car, heading towards Mr Leone's main residence. I'd been there a few times, never having enough time to quite take in the size of the property. Today wouldn't be any different.
We arrived, and I got out, straightening my outfit of the day. It was getting warm, so I had decided on a simple white shirt, and a grey, high-waisted skirt that fell to about mid thigh. It was a decidedly professional outfit, and I knew I looked good. My hair was in a low ponytail, with some face framing pieces out as a piecé de resistance.
I took in my reflection in the SUV's window, checking the makeup I had applied in the morning. I was coming to enjoy wearing makeup, it was a wonderful thing for the self esteem and gave me at least 45 minutes to be mindful and creative, a day. Once satisfied, I made my way towards the house. My stilettos clicked against the marble floors as soon as they made contact, and I found myself in Angelo's home office in no time.
He barely spared a glance at me and held his hand out for the file I had in my hand. I wanted to say something but the person I was planning to discuss was in the room. He was a meek guy, and his name had escaped me. When stood in heels, I could see clear over his head, but that didn't deter him from making passes at me when Angelo was out of earshot. After I told him this ride had a height requirement in front of the whole team, the comments ceased, to my delight.
Instead of pressing the matter, I handed over the file, confident in my creditors ability to read and comprehend.
Making myself scarce was my next order of business, and I had bumped into Vince on the way to the kitchen. We started chatting, which mostly consisted of him making corny jokes, and me laughing. He insisted on getting at least one laugh out of me whenever he saw me, sliding in compliments on my "beautiful smile".
He had an infectious energy, soon transforming my somber mood to a more lighthearted one. We sat together for a while, and our conversation flowed naturally. We talked about our favourites. Music, movies, foods. I wasn't as worldly as he was, so I sat back and listened, offering comments when appropriate. Watching him talk about the little things that he nerded out about was fun.
I could tell the serious nature of the people that surrounded him was somewhat stifling to him, and he seemed to be happy to just have someone to talk to about the things that made him tick. He was in the throes of making his case as to why the Marvel Cinematic Universe was the best series of movies to have graced the big screen when Raymond appeared from around the corner, presumably coming to get some water and dried fruit to break his fast.
"Yo, Ray. Why the fuck are you eating dates?" Vince's face was scrunched up in disgust as he asked his question with indignation. I could only assume that he wasn't aware of the traditional way to end that period of abstinence.
While Raymond chose to look my companion square in the face and responded with silence, I made quick work of explaining that some Muslims chose to break their fast like their Prophet Mohammed (peace be upon him) had, with three dates and a drink of water.
This had an effect opposite to what I had intended. Instead of quietly moving on, Vince exclaimed, "You're Muslim?! I thought you were Russian!"
I was stunned, but Raymond didn't seem to be phased, grabbing his water bottle and leaving the room. He was clearly used to this. Vince called behind him, "You're around a nigga a whole year and it's quiet. But all it takes a pretty lady, and you're chatty patty?! I'mma remember this." His tone was playful, and I couldn't help but laugh, still shocked that he had somehow believed you that couldn't be Russian and Muslim at the same time.
He looked at me with question in his eyes, and I explained the source of my mirth. The fact that he still didn't understand what was wrong with his statement sent me into a renewed laughing fit. He looked at me with as stale an expression he could manage, waiting for me to elaborate, moving his head as if to say, "Okay, and?"
"It's like saying, you're a vegetarian, I thought you were Black? One has nothing to do with the other."
Understanding dawned on his face, and he nodded, seemingly impressed. "My brother is Nation of Islam. I respect it"
Before I could explain that this was in fact, not the case, Angelo came into the room. He seemed even more irritated than before, and seeing the proximity between us, however innocent, did not help his mood. I incorrectly assumed his irritation was from taking one look at the report I gave him and realising he was being sold a dud, so I waited for him to say something about cancelling tomorrow's excursion. Instead, he started barking orders at his younger brother, essentially telling him to do the job he was paid to do.
"You can go home now. Raymond will take you. Make sure you're ready to be picked up at 8am sharp tomorrow." This was directed at me. His tone was pointed, and brokered no room for argument.
The temperature of the room seemed to drop in an instant, and all that could be heard was the sound of the younger Leone taking his leave, not without grumbling something along the lines of "someone needing to get laid."
I enjoyed Vince's company, but I was cursing him in this precise moment. He didn't know about the sexual part of our working relationship, but he had inadvertently thrown me to the metaphorical wolf.
I took my chances on trying to revive the topic of the report, but was dissuaded by a sharp look from my boss, as soon as I took a breath and opened my mouth.
Resigning myself to his will, I went about finding Raymond, to ask him to take me home
This was the first time in my life I was having to dress for a reason other than utility. I was never really going anywhere that warranted an elaborate outfit. So I kept my wardrobe simple and durable.
I followed trends vicariously, catching glimpses of girls with much more exciting lives than me making their way through the city, with me playing an extra in the background of their lives. I envied those girls, but instead of seething silently, I prayed that they would continue to succeed, and that I would get my turn as well.
I never thought that this would be the way I would get access to a finer wardrobe, but I tried to embrace it anyway. Today's ensemble consisted of a dark blue suit. Instead of the traditional silhouette, the blazer of this suit had a belt in a matching fabric that cinched in my waist. I wore it with a bra designed for a deep cut, foregoing a shirt. The pants were ever so slightly flared, which allowed me to wear a pair of patent, snakeskin effect knee-high boots that carried complementary tones of the same blue as my clothes. Only the toe of the shoe was visible.
The pitch of the heel was incredibly steep, but it was the price I was willing to pay for the satisfaction of looking down at these bad boys all day.
I figured since the clothes are mine, I may as well go full hog. If worst came to worst, I'd sell them on a reselling platform like Depop.
My hair was in voluminous waves, and instead of settling for a parting, I had raked my hand through the front of it a few times, until it fell around my face the way I wanted it to. A simple winged liner was the only thing that would cause a man to notice I was wearing make up at all, but a woman would know I was wearing a full face of it, regardless of how soft the glam was.
I made my way downstairs, locking the door after me. In an effort to evoke as little ire as possible, I took heed of Angelo's parting words and stepped outside the building at 7.55am. Two minutes later, the familiar Escalade came around the corner and slowed its speed, before coming to a stop. I entered, greeting the occupants with a quick "Good Morning" and put of my seat belt carefully, as not to disturb my outfit.
In the car with me were Raymond, Angelo and Carl, the property guy. His name came to me long after I had last seen him yesterday, and his looks at me through the rear view mirror caused me to slip on a pair of black sunglasses to conceal my eyes. I was usually good at shielding my emotion from view, but this morning I simply didn't have it. Not for this fucking guy anyway.
The 40 minute journey was punctuated but the odd clearing of a throat. Angelo sat next to me and seemed preoccupied and tense. His briefcase was at his feet, moving slightly in tandem with the motor vehicle we were contained within.
The land tour was boring. Guido had been waiting for us to arrive as he drove straight here. I didn't have luxury of switching off unfortunately as I was expected to take minutes. We were being shown around by an Arab man, who introduced himself as Mohammed Abdulatifa. He claimed to have purchased the land with the endeavour of building a new, luxury, high rise apartment complex, but his time in the US had been cut short and he had to go back to Qatar, the country he hailed from. He was a hands on business man, who liked to at least be in the same country as any major projects.
The story checked out, but I had grown up with a pathological liar for a father, and knew what a lying man looked, or sounded like. He was dressed impeccably, and the suit he wore probably cost more than my total life earnings. He had a small pin of the Qatari flag on his lapel, which seemed innocuous enough. What really tipped me off was his accent. It was clearly meant to imitate Arab one and very nearly did so, but the way he pronounced his t's and d's was distinctly Hispanic. Maybe I was reading too deep into it; there could be a whole host of reasons why he spoke like that.
Nonetheless, a little plan brewed in my head.
Once we saw what we needed, we made our way back to the office. I slipped into the passenger side door of Guido's car under the guise of needing to get there early to set things up, as Angelo and Mohammed began doing that thing where they would say goodbye but continued talking, not moving from their spots.
I seized the opportunity to fill in Guido on my suspicions when we're alone, hoping he wouldn't laugh me out.
"I think that man isn't who he says he is." I said, glancing at Guido to gauge his reaction. He seemed surprised, and his silence willed me to elaborate.
"Like, I don't even think he's Arab. I'm pretty sure he's Latino, sometimes the two ethnicities can be really difficult to tell apart."
"What makes you think that?" Was all he said, but the way he started rubbing his chin let me know he was not in total disbelief.
"First off, he said he's Qatari. Qatar is a country full of expats, you are literally more likely to meet an Indian person there than you are someone with Qatari citizenship. Don't ask me how I know that, I just do. Secondly, it was the way he was pronouncing his t's and d's. I have been around enough Spanish to know when I'm hearing someone with an accent."
My case sounded a lot more compelling in my head but I stuck to my guns. I was sure about this, and I was starting to think it had something to do with those tapes.
"I knew I didn't have a good feeling about this whole thing. He seems to be hellbent on completing this sale as his dad was working on it before he passed." He signed heavily before continuing. "I've been trying to get him to slow his roll and take a bit more time to really think it through but I haven't been able to get through to him." Relief that he was in agreement with me caused me to relax back into the seat a little bit.
"So what do you plan on doing about this Nessa?"
It was simple really. I had never seen a plan go left any quicker.
When I got back to the office, I made busy, preparing the boardroom for a presentation.
Soon, we were joined by Angelo, Carl and our guest of honour. Guido had also taken a seat in the room, assuming his position as Angelo's counsel. Carl flanked his other side, leaving Mohammed and his aid on the opposite end of the table. I was down at the end, out of sight, poised to facilitate. Before the meeting could commence, I wordlessly left the room and returned with a jug of water.
"I'm so sorry, I forgot to ask if anyone would like some water!" I tried to keep my tone even, as not to rouse suspicion, and the men around the table all in one way or another indicated that they were thirsty. I poured the into the glasses I had placed in front of every seat, making sure not to spill a drop. I saved Mr Mohammed's for last. He seemed to have worked up a real thirst, grabbing the glass as soon as I had finished pouring it. As he gulped the clear liquid down, he looked at me, presumably because I hadn't returned to my seat. The next thing out of my mouth caused him to choke.
"Ramadan Mubarak"
It was the Arabic way of wishing someone a happy Ramadan. A religious period that this man should have been observing if he was the upstanding Qatari gentleman he said he was.
The sound of him gurgling on the water filled the room. I quickly made my way to the door, not only to avoid getting splashed with the contents of his mouth, but also to leave and lock the door as Guido had instructed me to do in the event that my suspicions were confirmed. The other set of keys were in his possession. I couldn't see it, but Angelo's face hardened with realisation of what was going on.
I didn't stick around to find out what happened after my departure. All I knew is that my services would not be required for this next part.
________________________
And there you have it ladies and gentlebottoms!
Chapter 6 👁
First off, I'd like to say hi to all of the new readers. I'm so happy to have you all. Many of you have come over from FaceBook and I'd like to give a huge thank you to withmyy for sending you all my way. She is hands down one of the best authors on this app and her work is impeccable! Please run, not walk to her page and check out her work, if you're not already hip.
Love you long time Ari! 💖
We're staring to get an idea of where Vanessa's strengths lie. She's a nerd. Who just knows about obscure independence movements and country demographics? Not me *laughs nervously*
How do you think Angelo will take it? Will he be grateful?
I love Raymond, he reminds me of all the immigrant uncles that feel have had to anglicise their names to fit in. He's got such a unique story!
What do you guys think will happen next? LMK and remember to vote, comment and share, like a real Material Gworl would!
KISSES AND HUGS - DUCHESS 🤍🤍🤍