Serving Mr. Serrano

A Serrano Celebration

They called it the party of the year for a reason.

For the past twenty years, my birthday has been celebrated throughout the territory with more pomp and circumstances than was necessary. What had started as a small gathering to gain allies had grown into this extravagant, grand affair that had less and less to do with actually celebrating my birthday and more to do with the exclusivity of the invitation itself.

I had learned after my sixteenth birthday that people would do anything for power. After my discovery, getting people to do what I wanted became easier and easier, so long as I knew what their price was. For most, it was money. That it came with strings didn't matter, because the cash they received in return for their souls gave them something they desperately wanted.

Power.

Freedom.

Possessions.

My name guaranteed a worthy sum for their sins, and I was more than happy to dole it out as long as they did as ordered and kept their mouths shut.

If I'd been asked twenty years ago if I knew that my birthday would mean so much to all these people, I would have said no. Never mind that I am the oldest surviving son of the late Leonardo Serrano, the man responsible for our prominent position and abundant wealth. After he died, I was forced to take the mantle at the very tender age of fifteen, and had it not been for Percy Garcia, my father's right-hand, my family and I would most likely have been killed years ago.

Unlike billionaires today, we didn't earn our money in the most legal of ways... Yes, my family and I have the controlling stake of Serrano Enterprises, a company worth several billion cromas, but most of our wealth comes from several illegal operations spanning dozens of countries and over fifty years. It is the reason so many people were invited to this year's event.

Of the five hundred invitations that had been sent out to "the elite" of the country, four hundred and eighty had RSVP'd on time. Every guest was expected to present their invitation to security and authenticate their identity with a fingerprint, at which point, they would be allowed entry. Once inside, phones, cameras or any device that could take photos or videos are seized by security.

This was for everyone's safety and privacy, to prevent any scandals from making the morning papers or the rush-hour news. People in this wicked, corrupt world valued their privacy a great deal, and I needed that seclusion to conduct my business tonight.

Law enforcement knew exactly what I was up to, but greasing the right palms and operating discreetly went a long way in staying out of jail. I’d invited the commissioner of police, Anthony Bezabeh, as well as a few of the Supreme Court Justices currently seated on the bench. The Solicitor General of Britu and other law enforcement authorities of the country received invitations as well. Even the chiefs of the various Britu tribes were present. Prominent members of some of the political parties with seats in parliament. The prime minister herself was required to make an appearance, since I was a very supportive, very generous donor.

Like all my guests, I'm dressed formally for the event. I had chosen a black tuxedo with matching shirt, tie and vest. The only splash of colour on my outfit is the gold pin on the velvet lapel of my jacket, and the watch on my wrist.

I'm adjusting my cuff-links when my brother enters my bedroom suite, already dressed to the nines in a mandarin-collar black suit.

"You're looking... dark."

"It is my birthday after all," I replied, glancing at his reflection in the massive mirror in my closet.

"Are you ready?" he asked, sliding one hand in his pocket.

"Almost. Is security in place? Every year someone finds a way up here, hoping to steal some shit."

Tomas waved his hand dismissively. "I doubt that'll happen again. Percy has this place locked up tighter than a virgin's-"

I held up a hand. "Don't start. It's much too early for your vulgarity, Tomas."

"I don't suppose it's too early for a drink, though?" he queried, leaning casually against the wall beside me.

"It's never too early for a drink. Especially with your mother roaming these already haunted halls," I said, dusting off any lint that might be clinging to my tuxedo.

The sound he made was between a sigh and a groan, rubbing his temples with his fingers, as if fighting off a headache. We both loved the woman to death, but she could be a serious f*****g pain in the ass.

"I don't suppose she has a headache or some other kind of ailment tonight?" I asked, walking out into the sitting room of the master suite.

Tomas sighed, following closely behind me. "Unfortunately not. She's excited this year. She even took one of her happy pills. I just hope we're not in for another one of her infamous tantrums."

As if sensing that we're discussing her, our mother called out from the hallway, her voice carrying into the suite. Tomas threw a pointed look in my direction as he walked over to the bar to pour us both some much-needed bourbon. "Speak of the devil..."

Tomas gulped down his drink, then poured another generous measure into his glass. We looked up as she poked her head inside, and smiled affectionately at both of us. Mother glided into the room with an elegance learned from years of experience at my father's side. She twirled around in her lavish black velvet gown, adorned from neck to toe with gems and sequins. It's elegant and beautiful, befitting the matriarch of the Serrano Family.

"Anything to say?" she demanded, posing with her hands on her hips.

"You look radiant, as always, mother."

"Thank you, Nic. This is why you're the good son."

Tomas hid his amusement by sipping from his glass, draining the glass in one swallow. If he didn't stop tossing back my expensive bourbon like that, he'd be drunk before the celebrations even started.

Judging from my mother's comment, they must have had some kind of altercation earlier. They were always at each other's throats, constantly bickering. I ignored the tension, and took a small sip of the liquor.

"Most sons greet their mothers with a kiss on the cheek, you know?"

"Most mothers wish their sons a happy birthday on the day they are born."

She frowned, I think. It was a little hard to tell with all the foundation on her face. Which I really wish she hadn't worn, because she was so much more beautiful without it. But she quickly waved a hand in dismissal, the long sleeves of her dress moving with her.

She smiled suddenly, and leaned forward to ask, "So where's Percival? We need to get started."

Well, the medication must be working in her favour tonight. At least, I hoped it was. She had a tendency to be a little too unpredictable for my liking, so I chose to avoid her generally. The more time I spent with her now, the less she'd bother me downstairs at the party.

"He's busy downstairs. He said to start without him while he counts out the money," Tomas explained. Mother nodded, and she waved both of us closer impatiently.

"We may as well get started then," she said, pulling her rosary out from the neckline of her dress, and holding it out in her hand.

After my father's passing, my mother turned to religion for comfort. She was a very devout Catholic, and her faith had been running strong for nearly twenty years. She prayed, attended church, spent most of her time and money on charities and helping others. She believed in doing as much good as possible, I think, to cancel out our sins. It wasn’t that she was unaware of our operations - she used to help my father run his business, after all - she just preferred not to be involved anymore.

Which was perfectly fine, honestly. Neither Tomas nor I had a problem with her religious beliefs. The only thing that annoyed us both was when she insisted on these annual prayers on each of our birthdays. My brother and I agreed to keep her happy, because we knew how much it meant to her, but we could honestly go without it.

Our mother grabbed both our wrists, pulling us closer, so we formed a circle. She bowed her head, closed her eyes and, with the crucifix in her hand, made the sign of the cross while we watched. As always, she started with the Apostles' Creed, before moving on to say the "Our Father" prayer. We closed our eyes, and let her commence with the prayers.

When she was done, we muttered an "Amen" and immediately stepped away. Tomas had always joked that he was scared to stand too close to me in case I suddenly caught on fire during prayers.

"As much as we'd love to stay here and enjoy the effects of whatever medication you're on tonight, there's plenty to do before the guests arrive."

She arched both brows, looking at me with disapproval. My mother was the only person in the world capable of making me feel even a shred of shame, so I mumbled an apology and pressed an affectionate kiss on her forehead.

"Tomas," she began, holding out her cheek.

"Mother, please. Let's not start this again," Tomas begged.

"Start what? All I'm asking for is a simple kiss on the cheek before the two of you go on your merry way."

His chuckle was sardonic, and I tossed the contents of my glass down my throat before slamming the crystal on the bar.

"On that note..."

"Tomas."

"Alright! f**k. You're so persistent," he snapped, leaning over to press a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"I should have assumed family drama would be the reason for your tardiness."

We all turned towards the door as Percy entered, both hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping over my mother with a concentrated disinterest.

"Katerina."

"Percival."

Tension loomed, until it was thick enough to cut through with a knife. In an attempt to diffuse the situation, I asked, "Percy, I assume you're here to get us for the count downstairs?"

After averting his gaze from my mother, Percy glanced at me and shook his head.

"We're done. Everything's been divided accordingly," he explained, accepting the glass of bourbon. He sniffed at the liquor and then placed the glass on my desk. All eyes turned to my mother, and the message was clear enough that she sighed softly. "Enjoy your night. Don't get killed," she announced, then paused with a thoughtful expression. "Even you, Percival."

We watched her glide out of the room, shoulders squared.

"Is the money with the security team?" Tomas asked.

"The trusted ones, yes. They've already distributed them to the tables your associates know to approach."

I nodded, even though I was already aware of this information. "We might as well have a look."

"No time for that, unfortunately," Percy said, two fingers pressed to his right ear. "The Seven is here."

***

The Seven is an organisation of the heads of the seven major crime families in Britu. Along with Khan, Mammen, Menga, Rolle, Jordan and Khalid, I am a member as well. The country as a whole is divided among us, each with our own territories to rule. While we're free to govern our respective land as we please, we have rules we are bound by called The Code.

We not only make the laws, but we enforce and live by them as well. The same as every normal citizen obeys the laws of the Constitution, we obey The Code. These rules are put in place to prevent law enforcement agencies from coming after us and to impede a war between the seven of us.

Best to err on the side of caution.

Every year, gifts are given to each member of The Seven on their birthdays. This year, Khan, Rolle and Menga ordered a custom private jet to be built for me, with my preferences in mind. The other members of The Seven have each bought me a custom-made Aston Martin, a lavish beach house in Ginevas and an exclusive collection of diamond-encrusted timepieces.

Of course, the gifts weren't presented by The Seven personally, but by the men and women who served at their beck and call. They were too busy milling about with the other guests, shaking the hands of politicians and negotiating deals with other businessmen.

I watched each of them from my usual perch on the second floor balcony, where I had a perfect view of the ballroom. With a glass of bourbon in one hand and a cigar in the other, I observed with careful interest as the associates approached the gambling tables. They were to make a bet of some kind, and the dealers would slowly but surely allow them to win. By the time they called it quits, they'd have won their annual payment for services rendered. Everything was reasonably legal, so they couldn't be charged with accepting bribery or any such thing. It helped me launder my money as well, so everyone won in the end.

I watched the blackjack table, where Bezabeh was winning round after round as expected. He still celebrated every win, though, as if genuinely surprised that his bets were paying off.

While I'm making my rounds, one of my staff members approaches me, her steps hurried, her face pale with concern.

"What is it, Kimberley?"

"Mr. Serrano," she began, her hands waving around frantically. "Two of the guests have found their way up the stairs. One of them, the man… I think he is hurting the woman."

Shit.

"Show me."

She turned and practically ran all the way down the corridor, her shoes quiet against the marble. I followed her, my glass long abandoned with the cigar on an end table by the balcony. I noticed there aren't any guards here, and it's quieter than the rest of the house. All except for...

"f*****g sonofabitch!"

The silence was shattered a second later by a woman cursing, fluently and angrily in a mix of Xhosa, French and Tunyan. The unmistakable sound of glass breaking, and the obvious distress in her voice quickened my steps and I burst through the doors of the drawing room with my gun out, ready to shoot.

I walked in just in time to see the woman in question land an impressive right hook to the man's temple. He stumbled backwards, clutching his face. Not allowing him a second of respite, she lifted a knee between his legs and nailed him in the groin, which effectively brought him to his knees, hands clutching at his crotch.

But she wasn’t done.

She grabbed a priceless vase off the end table closest to her and smashed it over his head. The man collapsed on his side, unconscious.

Her breathing laboured, she stopped to look down at him, her back to us. I looked over at Kimberley, who was smiling with genuine pride, and I nodded to her once, granting her permission to leave. She schooled her features, and turned silently on her heel, leaving the room. The door closed behind her, startling the woman I’d been in such a hurry to rescue. Slowly, she turned to face me, her eyes widening when she saw the gun in my hand.

"If you think pointing a gun at me will make me any more amenable to–"

"You were not my intended target. One of the staff heard the commotion and alerted me to your situation,” I told her, regarding the man on the floor. "But you seem to have the situation handled rather well."

She waited until I put my gun back in its holster before she was at ease. She wiped her cheek before she said, "I'm sorry about your vases."

"Vases? As in plural?"

She pointed to something behind me, and I turned briefly. Sure enough, she'd broken two, priceless Stubēn vases. Percy wasn't going to be happy.

"Tell me what happened."

She sighed, then plopped down in the chair closest to her. "I'm more than happy to share. But," she said, flexing her hand carefully, "May I please trouble you for a drink? The strongest s**t you've got."