#kane01

It was always strange to see somebody in a place they weren’t supposed to be. Teachers belonged in the classroom, not at the charity gala one was attending at her father’s request. Tennis coaches belonged on the court, not in the backseat of a town car with a high school student. The man Nina knew as Kane belonged in a club or on a yacht in Medellin, not in the city she now called home.

Emilia had warned her, of course, after the party. The pieces of the Vargas empire began to fall into place that night, and Nina wanted to kick herself for being so stupid. How hadn’t they figured this out before? Granted, neither young woman expected their newly minted enemy to start buying them drinks in a foreign country, but Nina still hated to be bested. She gained only a bit of comfort now as she caught sight of the man with a baby in his arms. “Alright, where did you get that kid? Is this a situation requiring the police?” 

Where: Kane’s Apartment | Julian’s Building  When: 5pm | After The Vargas Party

Julian Pistris: [text at 5:01pm] Here to collect the rent, I’ll meet you at the unit to look at the sink.

Being a landlord was... well he really didn’t find it to be all that difficult. After all, he was able to make a paycheck by literally taking other people’s money. The buildings that fell under his reach- for the most part- were nice and up to date... Sans the one he had arrived at now, the complex definitely seeing better times in the past. Luckily for him, each apartment was filled thanks to underpricing the shit out of the area. It was all about push and pull in the business.

When he’d gotten a small complaint from one of his lessees regarding a sink, he begrudgingly hauled ass over to the building. The guy was relatively new to Montreal, deciding that they’d rent on a month to month basis. However, he’d already fallen behind regarding fees and move-in paperwork... The elevator opened up, and Julian could smell the ever distant scent of weed. At least someone was having a good time. As he got to the door, two fingers rapped on the wood: one. two. “Hé, c'est le propriétaire- here, mate!” 

Where: The Bianchi Estate | Wine Cellar When: December 11th

The plethora of guests was something the Bianchi expected. After all, Gregory Bianchi’s notoriety extended beyond New York’s border. There were those that saw him as competition, be it in business or in the underground. No doubt, some couldn’t believe the news of his passing until they attended the wake. Those that admired him for his cruel pragmatism, such as his allies and partners. For them, the loss would be immeasurable. As Leyla made her rounds, she found herself in the kitchen overhearing the servers. Out of wine, waiting for more caterers... God forbid something went wrong on this day. “I’ll go to the cellar and pick up some bottles, worry about the food. And don’t let anyone know we’re running low- especially not my mother.” 

She’d never been fond of the cellar as a kid, it’d been too quiet. Too dark. As if it was haunted by all those that the Bianchi had hurt. Nonetheless, it was a surprisingly welcome change to the chaos unfolding above. As the stairs creaked, Leyla could see the numerous racks of vintage merlots and shirazes glimmering under an Einstein bulb. She was just about to reach for the neck of a bottle when something shifted behind her. Someone. “Hey, this place is off limits to guests-” 

Where: Doc Mark’s Auto Service |  (Brooklyn) When: December 8th | Early Evening

Denim covered in grease, working at Docs was the furthest thing from glamorous. And certainly not up to Bianchi’s standards. Leyla had grown up a Park Avenue princess, the material world all but sitting in the palm of her hand. There were the pretty dresses her mother forced her in, the designer jewels that adorned her wrist, the estate... yet all the things in the world couldn’t make up for the ice that surrounded her childhood. When all Leyla desired was her father’s attention and to feel important, a limitless credit card was far from the answer she needed... The minute she turned eighteen, Leyla ran off to Brooklyn without a second thought.

Her shitty apartment looked like a shack in comparison to the Bianchi palace, and her mother always cringed at the idea of her daughter working under the hood of cars... but at least it was something she’d made happen on her own. At least her little piece of New York was something she could control... It was ten minutes until closing time for the shop, the other guys let go early as Leyla started to put away tools. That’ll teaching you for taking two days off... A myriad of paperwork was scattered on the counter when the door bell jingled .”Hey- we’re about to close so if you need something, come back tomorrow-” The words fell out of her lips as her eyes recognized the figure. “You.”