LOCATION: la madrugada, back offices FOR: emiliano del castillo

DESPITE THE DEMENOR THAT cruz wears somewhat like a scar -- sarcastic and with skin like worn leather, they do have the occasional soft spot every now and then. emiliano del castillo just so happens to be one of them. having seen each other through over a decade of time with the mob -- cruz had always believed his assertion was imminent ( even if they'd never say something that fucking soft out loud ). thus, she gives him a bit less lip than one might expect from him. thinks a bit longer before making a choice -- wondering if it would potentially jeopardize the deal he had sent them on.

friendship, somewhere along the way, seemed to happen naturally. somewhere along the way nods of approval turned to occasional jokes. and as some would say -- the rest is history.

LOCATION: a neutral hotel, late night FOR: augustine bell

OF COURSE, CRUZ KNOWS what they're doing -- sleeping with someone who shares a different loyalty than them. and yet, there's a part of them that can feel their brain melting out of their ears the moment their eyes fall on a beautiful woman. augustine bell is one such particular case -- leading to frequent visits to hotel rooms that were likely a far cry from the contingency leader's stomping grounds. and yet, cruz prided themselves on making sure the other woman soon forgot about her surroundings -- making them worth her while.

the room smelled of cigarette's and lavender detergent, the dealer's body wrapped in well-loved white sheets. there she was -- the other woman poised elegantly across the room. cruz rarely ever found themselves unable to keep their cool -- and their head was still level. they release an exhale as they adjust, a cocky smile on their face.

LOCATION: la madrugada. FOR: rüya nacar.

OH, WHAT A NIGHT IT had already been. frankly, cruz wasn't suprised at all by the audacity of people -- particularly grown men. although they weren't phased, they were particularly annoyed. and yet, they would go on with the rest of their evening knowing that emiliano would cut them another check. that was what all this was for -- right? another check, so they could pay for their overpriced shithole they called an apartment. and yet, they had always been like a fucking cockroach -- always landing on their feet.

eyes were scanning the area around them, watching for anyone familiar amongst the sweaty bodies and pounding bass. that is, until their eyes fall on rüya, engulfed in the club lighting. cruz was familiar enough with the woman, considering that nico had the tendency to peak in on their work every now and again. thus, they find themselves comfortable enough to approach her.

LOCATION: celestina's office, mid-day FOR: celestina de castillo

IS THERE A CERTAIN amount of joy they get out of keeping the boss lady on their toes? absolutely. in their line of work, they find themselves searching for any kind of amusement they can. and yet, they know they'll be loyal to the mob until the moment they take their last breath. in their heart of hearts, they know that they'd probably be dead had it not been for their work with them. the mob had given them a chance to get their feet underneath them, making a living in one of the most expensive cities in the country.

" boo. " they great celestina as she enters her office, having been planted with their legs slung over the arm of her chair and crossed for the past twenty minutes. they soon find themselves sitting at attention, as if awaiting some sort of command -- but there's always going to be the part of them that's unable to keep from laughing. of course cruz was aware that in the beginning -- they had driven the woman fucking insane. and yet, as they had worked together in the capacity they had -- just like anyone else, they'd evolved.

LOCATION: the plaza hotel FOR: camilla caravelli

IS CRUZ WELL AWARE that they stick out in the glamour and prestige of the plaza hotel like a sore thumb? hell, perhaps the better description was to say a broken thumb. mangled, disjointed and a fucking mess. and yet, they've tried to put some amount of effort into their appearance so they didn't look like they crawled out of one of the many sewer grates in their fair city. they had the ability appear like some kind of young professional, even if they felt like three children in a trench coat. hair was still a mess, however -- never unable to be anything but wild and free.

of course, camilla is always as graceful as cruz has known her to be -- almost like a princess in her own right. of course, they're more than aware that the blonde is intelligent enough to put the pieces together on what their presence here could possibly mean -- related to either their shared business, or someone else's pleasure. in this case -- it was the latter. a guest had wanted to have some fun later, a wealthy man who had always praised cruz for their discretion, even if their mouth left little room for small talk.

LOCATION: a shitty neutral dive with a dartboard FOR: luca delano

" i know y'got this whole broodin', angsty thing goin' on... but y'haven't spoken a word in like -- too long. "

CRUZ IS NO STRANGER to dives like these. in fact, they thrive amongst the dust and the grime. amongst one man's trash -- cigarette smoke clinging to their hair and the sound of pool balls clacking together their soundtrack. they've taken a surprising liking to luca -- because cruz found themselves far from the kind of being who stuck around the fighters of the mob. that is, when they weren't getting themselves into some bullshit. then, then she needed them. and yet.... there was a sort of odd, unspoken understanding.

forearms lean against the bar as they make an attempt to catch their attention, before their hand raises in luca's line of sight, with a birdlike whistle. " yoohoo -- hey there space cadet, wanna come down t'planet earth? 'cause i need a partner for'a game of darts. " now that they can see that she has his attention, a glimmer of chaos seems to make itself apparent, excited by the prospect of what was to come the rest of the evening.

hands come to rest on their chin as their lips coil upwards into a small, fortold to be cocky smile. perhaps because they know that deep down, there's a competitive streak that's quite literally woven into the mob's dna. " c'mooooooon, pretty please? loser buys drinks the rest'a the night. and you know me... mama didn't raise a bitch. "

" don't be with him. " the words blurt out like it's physically impossible for him to contain the thought any longer. a low chuckle following as he shakes his head, barley meeting their gaze. he knows how insane he sounds. " i'm not saying be with me, that — fuck, that's probably a worse fate. but just . . . don't be with him. "