Touched by the Mobster

Chapter II – Maxweel Benevant

The night seemed like a labyrinth of sounds and lights. Every corner of the nightclub was enveloped in an atmosphere of seduction and tension. Businessmen, with undone ties and fake laughter, sat on luxurious sofas or leaned against marble counters, sipping their drinks with sophistication. But what truly dominated the environment was not the charm of the conversations, nor the discreet toasts. It was the smell of decay, of shady power, and promises of illicit pleasure.

I, Maxweel Benevant, walked among them, my body erect, my presence commanding attention. It was a dangerous game. When I entered this world, I already knew how much it could corrupt me, but I also knew how much it could make me grow. He who controls what others desire controls the world. And I controlled it all, not only with drugs and women but with contracts, favors, and promises of fast money.

The women moved like pieces on a chessboard. None of them had any idea they were merely players, each trying to fit into the mold of what a powerful man wanted to see. I watched them, assessing their worth. They danced with the same intensity with which they gave themselves to clients, their bodies a precious commodity that I knew could be traded for something greater.

Blanka, the woman with whom I was about to meet to discuss the future of our union, was far from my thoughts at that moment. There was much more around me that attracted me, a pulsing tension, an insatiable curiosity for everything that was happening here. Even though, deep down, the idea of being "faithful" to her, as in my fantasies, seemed more and more distant. She was a pure woman, wrapped in dreams of love, while I was trapped in a world of shadows.

The luxury of the nightclub couldn't hide the filth behind the business transactions taking place there. The stakes were in the shadows, where money flowed in a dirty manner, where deals were made to satisfy needs that no one would ever admit in public. But everything revolved around me, and I knew it. I was the central piece in this rotation. Without me, nothing would exist. Not the power, nor the wealth.

The bet was being made right here, in the shadows, as I sat, watching, waiting. No mistakes, no failures. The man I was meeting had just lost more than he could pay. His eyes, full of fear, were like a reflection of human frailty itself. But he was not the only one about to lose in this game. I was also about to make a choice. A choice that could change everything.

The man who was being threatened didn't know his life now belonged to me. His mistakes, his ties to debt, and, above all, his relationship with my half-brother Apolo were pieces in the game I had already started playing. The nightclub, the women, the business deals, and even s*x — everything was about power. One wrong move, and someone would fall. I knew that. And that gave me control.

"Let's go," I said, stepping closer, and the tension became even more palpable. I could see the apprehension on the faces of the others. The fear of what I might do hung in the air like perfume. The others stepped back, as if they knew my presence alone was enough to dismantle any situation.

"Who brought you here?" I asked the dealer, as I watched the man try, uselessly, to apologize.

"Apolo Benevant," he replied. A mention of my brother, who wouldn’t be long before getting himself into another mess. He was impulsive, always in a hurry to stand out, and now he seemed to have dragged an innocent man into the dirt of our world.

Apolo's eyes were a mixture of betrayal and trust. He always believed he could manipulate everything. But the problem was, he couldn't manipulate the only thing that really mattered: power. Power came from who had the last word, from who had the resources to destroy and rebuild.

"Take him to the back," I said, already tired of the scene. The man’s desperation was palpable. He begged. But there was no mercy left. He was nothing more than a disposable piece in my game, and for me, there was nothing more to be done.

The room was filled with murmurs, but the women dancing didn't seem to notice the chaos around them. They were here to serve, to entertain, to please. Their price was high, but no one questioned it. If they didn’t serve the men’s whims, if pleasure wasn’t present, the price would go up.

I went up to the upper floor, where the negotiations between my clients were more discreet. The luxury of the nightclub couldn't hide the smell of shady business deals and promises of pleasure. Up there, observing the scene, I thought about the woman who was about to become my wife, but I also thought about the ones who were only here to satisfy the darkest desires.

I knew Blanka loved me. I knew she was preparing for our wedding, imagining a life filled with luxury and love. But she didn’t know the weight of my existence. She didn’t know the true nature of the world I inhabited, where everything had a price.

"Look at this photo..."

I didn’t care. No woman compares to Blanka. But the girl was beautiful.

"What do you suggest?"

"She’s young. With eyes like that, she’d make a fortune."

I lit a cigar.

"You’re suggesting this stepdaughter could pay his debt?"

"Yes, sir. They’re poor. She’s pretty. No one will care."

"What did you do with him?"

"The usual beating. But we can go harder."

"Let him go. Follow him. Bring me the girl. How old?"

"Eighteen, almost."

I frowned.

"What do you expect me to do with an eighteen-year-old, John?"

"Plenty of clients like them young. No one needs to know."

I nodded. Makeup, dress, heels — all fixable.

"Bring her to me. As for him... we’ll decide later." I said, without further ado. The focus was on something else. Another piece that could be mine.