MAFIA’s OBSESSION

The gallery smelled like money and desperation. The first scent came from the million-dollar art pieces hanging on the walls, the second from me, trying to keep my career from falling apart. I stood in the middle of Léon & Finch Art Gallery, the crown jewel of New York’s high-end art scene, where the elite gathered to pretend they understood abstract paintings while dropping obscene amounts of money on them. My job as a senior art consultant was to convince them that a few strategically placed paint splatters were absolutely life-changing, a skill I had perfected over the years. Or at least, I thought I had. “Cleo.” That one word, my name, spoken in a tone colder than a gallery’s air conditioning, sent a shiver down my spine. I turned to face Vivienne Ambrose, my boss. With her elegant black dress, sharp bob, and the perpetual look of someone who had no time for your nonsense, she was the type of woman who could reduce grown men to tears with a single well-timed sigh. She was flanked by Ethan Monroe, the new transfer from our London branch, a polished, annoyingly smug man who had been here for exactly three weeks and was already acting like he owned the place. “We have a problem.” Vivienne’s gaze was sharper than the stilettos she probably had custom-made in Milan. Fantastic. That was never a good sentence to hear, but especially not in a place where problems usually involved a lost six-figure deal or an artist having a full-blown existential crisis over brush strokes. “What happened?” I asked, bracing myself. Vivienne crossed her arms. “Would you like to explain why our most valued client just walked out of here furious?” Oh. That. I forced a polite smile and definitely didn’t look at Ethan, who was standing there like he was enjoying this. “Ah. Yes. That would be because I didn’t let Mr. Hawthorne lick the sculpture.” Vivienne blinked. “Excuse me?” “In my defense,” I said quickly, “I wasn’t aware that stopping a billionaire from tonguing a marble statue was a fireable offense.” A vein in Vivienne’s temple twitched. “You let him leave without securing the sale.” I winced. “I tried to redirect his enthusiasm, but unfortunately, he was very adamant about wanting to taste the art. And when I said no, he accused me of ruining his creative process.”Ethan cleared his throat, stepping forward like a smug little snake. “Actually, I spoke to Mr. Hawthorne before he left. He said he felt disrespected and that had I been handling the sale, he would have completed his purchase.” He shot me a sympathetic look that was absolutely fake. “It’s understandable, Cleo. You’re passionate, but sometimes you lack… finesse.” Oh, I’ll show you finesse when I throw you into a pile of postmodern sculptures, you pretentious British weasel. I clenched my jaw, but Vivienne had already turned to Ethan. “And you’re saying you could have saved the sale?” Ethan gave a modest shrug, as if he hadn’t been waiting for this moment. “I believe so, yes.” I knew what was happening. This wasn’t the first time something like this had been pinned on me. Over the past few weeks, whenever an issue arose, I was always the one left standing in the middle of the crime scene, holding the metaphorical murder weapon. It wasn’t a coincidence. Vivienne exhaled sharply. “Cleo, this is the third time this month a client has left unhappy under your watch.” “The first one tried to pay in cryptocurrency,” I pointed out. “And the second one asked if he could adopt the artist.” Vivienne held up a hand. “Enough. We can’t afford to lose clients, and I need consultants who can handle difficult buyers. Ethan, you’ll be taking over Mr. Hawthorne’s account.” I stiffened. Are you kidding me? Ethan shot me a look of pity which was worse than outright gloating. I swallowed my pride, pushing down the urge to scream into one of the overpriced sculptures. “Vivienne, with all due respect, I” “You’re on thin ice, Cleo,” she interrupted, her voice a warning. “I suggest you focus on your remaining clients before I have to make a difficult decision.” That was it. The death sentence was implied, but clear. If I made one more mistake, I was done. Vivienne turned and walked away, leaving me alone with Ethan, who definitely smirked before strolling off with all the ease of a man who wasn’t seconds away from unemployment. I let out a slow breath, staring at the pristine white walls of the gallery, wishing they would just swallow me whole. Great. Another humiliation to add to my growing collection. If I lost this job, my life would officially become a dumpster fire. But hey, at least I’d stopped a billionaire from making out with a statue. Small victories. For now. I had mastered the art of appearing calm under pressure. I’d perfected my smile, the one that said, “I’ve got this,” while internally, my nerves danced like caffeinated squirrels on a sugar high. But today was testing my limits, and it was only ten in the morning. If I survive work today, Josh would have to put his tongue to good use later. “Cleo, can you come to my office, please?” Vivienne’s voice echoed through the gallery, laced with that delightful mix of authority and disapproval. I set my coffee down, offering a silent prayer to whatever gods of office politics existed, and made my way to her lair. Vivienne was the kind of boss who could make a team of trained circus animals tremble with her mere presence. For the second time today, her sharp gaze was aimed at me like a hawk eyeing its prey. “Sit,” she commanded, gesturing to the chair opposite her imposing desk. I complied, already feeling the familiar squeeze of anxiety tightening around my chest. “Do you know why you’re here?” Vivienne asked, narrowing her eyes. I shook my head, biting back a snappy retort. The last thing I needed was to fuel her growing irritation. “Apparently, I’m a criminal mastermind,” I said half-heartedly. “I orchestrated a mass theft of priceless art pieces by a group of disgruntled mannequins.” Vivienne didn’t laugh. “This is serious, Cleo. You’ve had several complaints about your recent projects.” My heart sank. “What complaints? My last exhibit was a huge success!” “Perhaps if you’d actually taken the time to ensure the pieces were hung properly instead of letting the interns do it…” Vivienne’s voice trailed off, leaving an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air. “Are you really blaming me for an intern’s mistake? I was out sick that week! It’s not like I gave them a manual titled ‘How to Hang Art: A Beginner’s Guide.’’ Vivienne’s lips pressed into a thin line. “This isn’t the first time we’ve had this discussion, Cleo. And this is not how I expect my team to behave.”“Vivienne, I” “Enough. I’ve made my decision,” she said, cutting me off. “You’re suspended for a month, effective immediately.” My mind raced, trying to comprehend the weight of her words. A month? The gallery was my lifeline, my escape from the chaos of my personal life. “But I can explain. It’s not my fault!” Vivienne’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “You’re a talented consultant, Cleo. But if you want to stay here, you need to prove that you can handle the responsibility. Right now, I can’t trust you.” I felt the ground shift beneath me. “This is all because of Ethan, isn’t it?” I blurted out, unable to contain my frustration any longer. “You know he’s been gunning for me since the moment he walked through that door!” “Ethan? That’s not..” “Of course, he didn’t make the complaints himself. He’s much more subtle than that.” My heart raced as I stood up. “He’s the reason for this whole mess. I’ve been set up.” Vivienne regarded me, a mix of annoyance and pity crossing her features. “You’re lucky this isn’t a termination. Use this time to think about what you want. And remember, if you choose to return, it’s under my terms.” I didn’t respond. I simply walked out of the office, my mind reeling. I could practically feel Ethan’s smirk, that smug little face of his gloating at my downfall. The gallery suddenly felt like a prison, and I needed to escape. I gathered my things, determined to leave before I exploded. As I stepped into the crisp New York air, the reality of my situation crashed over me like a cold wave. My job was gone potentially forever and I had no idea how to face the world outside. With a deep breath, I started driving home. I needed to process what had just happened. I could already hear Ethan’s voice in my head, telling me it was all my fault, that I was always too emotional, too reckless. Maybe he was right. Maybe I had messed up. But the thought of giving him the satisfaction of winning made my blood boil. Halfway home, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a message from Josh: “Hey babe, can you grab takeout on your way back tonight, Chinese please ?” My stomach twisted. Of course, the glorious tech guru lost in a sea of pixels while I dealt with the fallout of the real world. The thought made my heart sink. The apartment we shared felt more like a reminder of my failures every day, a shrine to the life I had envisioned but now seemed so far from reach. As I reached my apartment, I fished out my keys, my fingers shaking. I pushed the door open, expecting the familiar warmth of our home, but it felt like stepping into a cold void. The sight that met my eyes sent my heart plummeting. Clothes, his clothes and another which I couldn’t quite recognize were strewn across the living room floor, as if they’d been stripped off in a hurry. “Harder! Yes please!!" The sounds of moans echoed from the bedroom, an uninvited symphony that shattered the last remnants of my day. “No.” The word slipped from my lips, a desperate plea as I moved toward the bedroom, each step heavier than the last. The moans grew louder, mingled with breathy whispers, and I felt my heart racing for a different reason. I pushed the door open, and there they were: Josh, tangled in sheets with a woman I didn’t recognize, both oblivious to the world outside their little bubble of betrayal. The reality of it hit me like a brick wall. I stumbled back, my breath hitching in my throat, the pieces of my life crumbling into dust around me. Frozen, rooted to the spot as my heart shattered, I realized I had a choice to make. But first, I needed to escape the scene of my destruction.