He had dressed nicely for it; even if he hadnāt
completely needed to, Ezekiel would have found an
excuse to throw the bow tie on and slide his
arms into the suitās jacket. He barely recognized
the habit anymore -- why he felt compelled to
shelter off the person he was in favor of the flashy,
charming mask he put on day in and day out. Like
a second skin, the tall, tattooed man wore expense well.
As though he hadnāt been born to a household that
had struggled to make ends meet. As though he hadnāt
had to work hard for the silver spoon charade.
He walked into theĀ Castellagne house like it belonged to him,
or vice versa.Ā
Tonight was poker night; a high-stakes game
that was private to a select few who lived within the city, and
he was more than happy to come with his wallet in tow.
Ezekiel had worked his ass off for months to get here --
to beĀ āinā with this sort of snooty, older crowd who had money
dripping from their sleeves. For all they knew, he ran a lucrative
business somewhere just south, and was the talk of the town
for his charm and wit -- how he couldnāt takeĀ ānoā for an answer
when it came to making connections. This was just another
loose end to tie up. Getting in with theĀ Castellagne family,
thatād make everything run much more smoothly...
Ā Ā Ā Ā āā āCome on, Victor, no drinks?
He took a seat at the table, smiling and setting his Ray-Bans
atop his head as he teased his host.
