Mafia Tech Bro

Chapter two

TANISHA

My stomach dropped. He looked away from me immediately, hand now resting on Pepa’s thigh as if I’m the interruption, not the employee who just sprinted through Manhattan like an overheated courier pigeon.

Christof doesn’t raise his voice. He never had to. The authority was built in.

“Go to my office,” he said, focusing back on Pepa. “Print the finalized board briefing, prepare the conference room, and have the shareholder packets arranged before the meeting at two.”

It was barely noon.

It’ll take at least an hour. Maybe more.

My mouth was dry. My legs felt like they were vibrating. I wanted to tell him I’ve been doing everything for him, printing, scheduling, running errands, answering emails, running around the city like a deranged marathoner. But his gaze flicked back to me for half a second.

Cold. Impatient. Not up for discussion.

I held back the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes, Mr. Gustavo.”

I turned to leave, pulse pounding in my ears, Pepa’s “sweet-but-not” smile burned into the back of my skull as she cuddled into him.

Their laughter followed me as I walked towards the office door, like someone smacking me across the back with an open palm. Giggles, little whispers, Pepa’s syrupy voice dripping adoration, Christof’s low chuckle. Each sound was another invisible slap.

I limped like a wounded dog, my ankles were throbbing from the miles I practically sprinted. Every step sent a sharp reminder through my legs that I am, in fact, a human being and not the human equivalent of a delivery drone.

Robin, the receptionist noticed my struggling steps and gave me a sympathetic smile. I acknowledged him with a nod.

I pushed open the door to Christof’s office, an enormous, glass-wrapped museum of wealth, and shut it behind me. I wanted to throw something, break something. I didn’t, God forbid. One flick of my wrist and I’d be financially indebted to this man until the day I die.

So I did the only thing I could.

I tilted my head back, clenched my fist, and screamed.

Silently, of course.

Jaw opened, throat tight, no sound coming out. A pressure-release valve, muted but desperate. My face twisted, my eyes squeezed shut, and my whole body shook with the violence of the scream I couldn’t actually make. When I opened my eyes, the office looked back at me, lush leather, sleek marble, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan like Christof owned the sky.

I didn’t have time for a mental breakdown so I pulled myself together, I dragged in a shaky but determined breath.

“Board briefing,” I muttered to myself. “Shareholder packets, conference room. Sure, why not? Let’s ruin my ankles a little more today.”

I hobbled towards the printer praying it wouldn’t jam. Because if it did, I might have to silently scream again.

The office started thinning out when the clock hit six. People started drifting home to their normal, balanced lives. Meanwhile, I’m gathering Christof’s files, laptop, jacket, and whatever else he managed to scatter across his day like a spoiled royal.

End of business day, but not the end of my day. My body felt like overcooked pasta, soft, limp, and vaguely tragic. My job didn’t end when Christof left the building, not even close. I took the private elevator down to the garage, the one that only executives and their VIP staff used. The air felt cold, and his car was already waiting. A massive black luxury SUV with windows so tinted you could commit a crime behind them and no one would know.

His driver, Emil, gave me a polite nod. He was the only one who ever acknowledged me like a human being. “Long day?”

I forced a smile. “Just another Tuesday.”

He opened the front passenger door for me. My spot. Always my spot. Front seat, next to the driver, never in the back, that seat was for Christof and his stupid girlfriend Pepa. This morning, she sat beside him in the back like some perfectly curated decoration, whispering nonsense into his ear while I pretended not to hear. She laughed at everything he said, touched his arm like she was blessing him, and made videos for her “spend a Tuesday morning with me” vlog. For reasons unknown to me, she never included Christof in her ridiculous vlogs.

After minutes of waiting, I spotted him walking toward the SUV. Tall, immaculate, untouchable. Pepa wasn’t with him this time, a small mercy. He was speaking on the phone, voice clipped and authoritative, barely glancing in my direction.

He got into the back seat without acknowledging my existence, still mid-conversation, and the car started rolling. Christof demanded I drive down to his house every morning, carry his belongings, and ride with him to work while briefing him on the activities of the day. I mean I could very well give him the briefing when he arrived at the office but no, he’s evil like that. At the end of the day, I’d have to ride with him back to his apartment, pick up my car, and drive home.

We arrived at his estate, a sprawling mansion that looked less like a home and more like a billionaire’s architectural experiment. Every inch of the ground and rooftop, was filled with security guards armed to the teeth. What he needed so many security guards for, I had no idea. My car sat parked near the guest garage, waiting like a loyal hound. Emil pulled into the driveway, he steps out and opened Christof’s door. He quickly stepped out, walked towards his front door without uttering a single word.

Not a “thank you.” “Goodnight.” Or even a dismissive nod. I handed his laptop, suit jacket and briefcase to Emil. I have never been inside Christof’s house, and I never want to.

I headed to my car with screaming ankles, heart tired in a way that has nothing to do with muscles.