New To Me

'Seeking refuge within yourself seems unobtainable. In some cases one is forced to do so, locking away the outside world feels like the only way to truly protect yourself. How wrong I was about everything, about myself, when I met him. I believe introductions are in order, I'm Matteo Steele, I run the most powerful gang in all of New York, the Howlers. Reputable for our control over the city, we are feared, not even the FBI has the means to shut us down and anyone who tries meets a brutal ending. As you can imagine, the power and sheer ruthlessness you have to display everyday, is intoxicating. I only crave more the more I receive. I demand respect, fear and loyalty above all else, I have killed people for not addressing me the way I want to be addressed. It seems like a lonely life for an outsider, but how could an outsider possibly understand the hunger and driven passion I have for power. I have fought my way to the top and have the scars to prove it, the first set of scars I gained was about 5 years ago. I was fifteen when I went on testosterone and paid for top surgery.  Every day after recovery I trained, gaining strength and muscle, but most importantly I learned what respect is. It was beaten into everyday until I learned how to fight back, until I learned how to defend myself against any force. I was seventeen when I picked up a gun for the first time and on that day I learned how to take care of a bullet wound. Being trans never affected what people thought of me after the transition. I was treated like any other boy born into the world of crime. Some might think I didn't have a choice being raised the way I was, truth is, growing up as a girl I was taught that it's none of my business as a lady to be involved in this. Little did everyone know I was never really a woman who needed shelter from it in the first place.  I'll spare you the sob story of my uncle banishing my father for a reason no one will ever know. However I will tell you how I murdered my uncle and took over the Howlers. He never truly believed I could be an alpha male, lack of testosterone and all, so I killed him. No weapons and no remorse, we fought for hours until I finally broke his ribs and it punctured his lungs. Elijah was never going to make me heir to the throne, even with no children of his own, he wanted to give everything to some outsider he supposedly trusted. I swear to god if I didn't kill him then, I would most likely do it now, the thought of giving all this to someone outside of the family made my blood boil.  I had to teach the very man who taught me respect in one final conversation. He laid limp in my arms clutching my bloody white shirt and before he gave in permanently, I had told him he wasn't worthy of everything he had. I even saw the shattering of him as a man in his eyes when I told him he doesn't know the first thing about loyalty to family. With that he exhaled his broken soul and his hand released my shirt. Some might call me cruel or unfeeling and I won't deny it, displaying any type of weakness can get you killed before you even know you displayed it. If you want a pack of wolves, become a vegetarian. At a young age I was already too involved to even bother finishing school. I dropped out at fourteen if it was even that late, then I trained privately with my uncle's best fighter. They were on the gender spectrum as well, seeing me for the man I have yet to become before I even knew where to start. After that I took over I insisted we ran more legal businesses, to do some good for all the bad my uncle has done. To be honest he almost ran us into the ground, making too many shady dealings our main source of income. That being said, I'm a business man, I have no official certificate but I have enough knowledge to put a graduate who mastered in business to shame. I opened quite a number of restaurants and bars even art galleries short after I took lead. There is nothing you can tell me about business deals that I won't know.' With the distant sound of cars driving through the busy streets of New York outside his penthouse window, Matteo got a call late night about a shipment of his that has gone missing. Slamming him cellphone on his bedside table he angrily got up and made his way to the closet. The closet light automatically displayed a bright white cascade as he entered, swiftly ripping the hanger of the rack and throwing it on the bed. Grabbing the material roughly he neatly dressed himself in one of his many tuxedos, making sure the dark grey material matches with the snow white shirt covering his muscular body. He reached for his phone on his bedside table, calling his most trusted driver, Frank, to meet him downstairs in five minutes. He slid his cellphone into the pocket of his jacket putting it back down on his bed, Matteo walked over to finish his evening drink. His soft footsteps barely making any noise in the deafening quite room. Luckily the glass was almost empty as he picked it up from the dark oak surface.  He took the last sip of his whiskey and stared intently at the fireplace crackling with burning wood as he sighed heavily. Shipments never disappear, especially not when he practically owns the docks, this means only two things; someone was dumb enough to steal from him, or it was an inside job making matters worse. He put the glass down almost precisely where the previous wet circle was left by the melting ice in the glass, he grabbed his watch and shoes. Tying up the designer leather and making sure the gold watch clicks around his wrist, he tucked his handgun into his waistband before he left his bedroom. On his way out, through the black and gold living room, he threw on his suit jacket and shut the front door behind him, almost waking the entire building on the floors beneath him.  In the elevator Matteo fixed the sleeve collars of his white shirt, tugging gently to make sure they're not caught and scrunched under the jacket. His hands fell powerfully in front of him as they met at his torso, one hand gripping the other. He stepped out of the elevator as it dinged in a high pitch, not even acknowledging the receptionist behind her desk on his left. The foyer was breathtaking, swimming  with white and a swirl of black marbled floors and lengthy pillars. Huge crystal chandeliers hung from the tall ceiling overlooking the velvet black leather chairs on the far right of the elevator. They gave the room a champagne glow, softly touching the various walls and surfaces.The receptionist jumped up from her plush black seat to greet Mr. Steele. Almost annoyed he shot her a glare, without even turning his head, that made her retreat back to her seat in silence like a tortoise pulling in it's head.  The doormen learned from her mistakes and opened up the crystal doors without so much as a look from them. Matteo hated when people just spoke to him without any means or business, if the conversation isn't beneficial for him, he won't answer nor acknowledge them. He stepped out into the grimy sidewalk of the city and opened the Bentley door, sliding effortlessly into the backseat. Frank pulled away with speed, he knew Mr. Steele hates to go out at night, it's why he has people to do this for him. Frank couldn't help but feel sorry for those who supposedly lost the shipment, when Mr. Steele finds out who did it they will wish he just puts a bullet between their eyes.