Stephanie, the Mafia Queen (English)

Plastered After finishing her cigarette, Stephanie went to the balcony to get some fresh air. A blanket of stars scattered across the dark sky, indicating that it wouldn't rain tonight. She took one last puff from a fresh cigarette before flicking the butt into an ashtray. Glancing back into the dimly lit room, her eyes fell on the man lying on the bed. It was the same man with whom she had shared an intense moment just an hour ago. His eyes were wide open, lifeless, staring blankly at the ceiling. His arm hung limply on the side of the mattress, where a steady trail of blood dripped onto the carpet. Stephanie didn't bother to cover the man's naked body. She had no desire to soil her clothes any further. Instead, she retrieved her cellphone from her pocket and dialed a familiar number. "Mission done," she said. "I need someone to clean this up." "Cleaner's on his way," Froilan replied over the line. "Any more missions for me today?" "Nah. You're good. But you might want to clean yourself. Wiping down a mafioso’s clothes isn't part of a cleaner's job description." "Maybe he has extra clothes I can change into?" Froilan chuckled softly. "Like I said, that's not part of their job. If he happens to have any, you'll have to pay extra." Stephanie clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Next time, I'll hire my own personal cleaner. This is such a hassle." "You should. I know you can afford to anyway.” After ending the call, Stephanie headed into the bathroom and began scrubbing the splattered blood from her clothes. She was grateful she hadn't worn white. It was a golden rule she had learned over her nearly twenty-four years in the mafia. She turned off the rushing tap when a sharp knock echoed from the front door. Grabbing a silk robe off the rack, she wrapped it around herself and cautiously approached. Peering through the peephole, she saw a male housekeeper standing outside with a cart of supplies, his face obscured by a low-brimmed cap. "Can I help you?" she asked through the locked door. "Housekeeping," the man called out. "I didn't call for housekeeping," Stephanie replied smoothly. The man paused, checking the brass room number beside the frame. "Room 403. Miss Seraphine requested a cleanup." Upon hearing her mafia codename, Stephanie unlatched the lock and pulled the door open. The cleaner slipped inside swiftly, and she locked it behind him. Without exchanging a word, he immediately went to work. "Hey," Stephanie called out mid-way through his task. He stopped, turning toward her with an unreadable expression. "Do you happen to have any extra clothes in that cart? I can't get this stain out of my shirt." The cleaner stood up, pulled off his rubber gloves, and rummaged through the lower compartment of his utility cart. He pulled out a plain black t-shirt and handed it to her. "Nice. Thanks. Anything you want in return?" The man simply shrugged before crouching back down to resume his work. Stephanie chuckled quietly and went into the adjoining corner to change. In all her years, she had never spoken to a cleaner like this, wondering briefly if accommodating strange requests was just an unspoken part of their gig. Once changed, she left the man to his bloody work. Free for the night, she had only one destination in mind. The Impero Bar. The moment she stepped inside, Enteng, the head bartender, slid a shot of chilled tequila across the counter toward her. Stephanie took a seat on a leather stool, her eyes scanning the lively dance floor. "Done for the night, Miss Stephanie?" Enteng asked, wiping down the bar top. "Yeah. Finally." "Finished early tonight, didn't you?" "That's a bad thing?" She smirked. "Just means I have more time to drink." Enteng laughed. "You've got a point. I'll keep the shots coming, then." "Appreciate it, Enteng." Stephanie leaned back, sipping her drink as she watched the crowd. She spotted several familiar faces. Colleagues who, like her, had wrapped up their dirty work for the evening. While the bar allowed civilian entry, the screening process was notoriously strict. Most patrons were relatives of syndicate bosses, children of high-ranking government officials, or elite figures in the underground network. Many knew exactly what Stephanie did for a living, but a few remained completely oblivious. She grinned into her glass, amused by the idea that some people in this room had no clue their lives could end at any moment. A few drinks later, Stephanie felt the call of nature and excused herself to the restroom. While washing her hands at the sink, the muffled sound of weeping and retching echoed from one of the stalls. It was a common enough sight in a place like this, but the raw distress in the woman's sobs caught her attention. The stall door opened, and a disheveled woman stumbled out, wipe marks of vomit smudged near her mouth. Accustomed as she was to gore, Stephanie still winced slightly at the sight. "You okay?" Stephanie asked casually. The woman turned, her eyes unfocused and bloodshot. Noticing the vacant smile that spread across her face, Stephanie confirmed she was plastered. "I'm fine," the woman slurred, raising an unsteady hand. "My boyfriend just cheated on me... but it's fine! The world keeps spinning, right? Don't worry about me." Left holding the running faucet, Stephanie stared at her in mild disbelief. The woman spoke as though heartbreak was a minor inconvenience she could simply laugh off. The stranger splashed cold water on her face, seeming to regain a fraction of her sobriety. Deciding she wanted no part in a stranger's romantic drama, Stephanie turned to leave. "Is this just how men are?" the woman blurted out to her back. "After getting what they want, they just move on? I thought this stuff only happened in television dramas. Turns out it happens in real life too.” "Real people write what we see on TV," Stephanie replied without stopping. "The storylines are either real events or heavily inspired by the writers. Take your pick." The woman blinked, caught off guard. "I'm Avaluan, by the way. What's your name?" Stephanie paused at the exit, facing her fully. "Let's not go there. It's better for you if you don't know who I am." "That's hardly fair. Now you know my name!" "Not my fault. I didn't ask. You offered it." With a short chuckle, Stephanie left the restroom, returning to the main floor where Enteng was already waiting with another shot. "Everything alright back there?" he asked. "Just ran into a strange woman in the bathroom," Stephanie sighed, tossing back the tequila. "She acts like getting cheated on is no big deal." Enteng raised an eyebrow. "Well, people process shock in weird ways." Stephanie shook her head, placing the empty glass on the counter. "Whatever. I just need a breath of fresh air." Back at her residential estate, Stephanie noticed a familiar luxury sedan parked in her driveway. She pulled her car in alongside it and headed inside. Her parents, Stacy and Axril, were sitting on the living room sofa, deep in lighthearted conversation. Hearing her footsteps, they looked up with warm smiles. "Welcome home, my dear," Stacy, her stepmother, said softly. "Hi, mom. Hi, dad. What are you guys doing here so late?" Stephanie leaned down to kiss them both on the cheek before sitting on the armrest. "You should have called. I would've come straight home." "We're on our way to the airport," Axril, her stepfather, explained. "We just dropped by to say goodbye. We'll be out of the country for a couple of months." "We thought," Stacy added, reaching out to gently squeeze Stephanie's hand, "you might want to see us before we take off. It could end up being closer to a year." Stephanie offered a reassuring smile. "Ma, Pa, I'll be fine. I'm twenty-four. I can take care of myself. I can handle a man thrice my size, remember?" Axril chuckled heartily. "That's not what worries us, dear. We know facing trained assassins is a walk in the park for you. We're just worried about you being alone in this big house for so long. You'll get lonely." "Seriously, I'll be fine," Stephanie reassured them. "If I get a break between contracts, I'll fly out to visit you." "Deal!" Stacy stood up, smoothing her dress. "We have to head out. Our flight leaves in an hour. And please, take a shower. You smell like a distillery." "Alright, alright. Safe travels." After seeing her parents off, Stephanie changed into a sleek black tracksuit, plugged in her earphones, and went out for an evening run to clear the alcohol from her system. She finished work early so she had a lot of energy in her. She needed to release more of that energy and get a good night's sleep. On her route back to her house, a shadow suddenly launched toward her head. Operating on pure instinct, she ducked, narrowly dodging a flying object that clattered onto the pavement behind her. It was a sneaker. She pulled out her earphones, turning around with a glare to see who had thrown it. "I've been yelling your name forever!" Avaluan gasped, out of breath as she limped forward on one shoe. "Are you deaf?!" Stephanie held up her earphones in silent explanation. Avaluan froze, her mouth forming an 'O' of realization. "Oh. I... didn't see those. Sorry." She scratched the back of her head awkwardly. Stephanie let out a long breath. "What do you want?" Avaluan looked away, suddenly self-conscious. "I just... wanted to ask if you live around here. But never mind, it's none of my business." "Did you really throw a shoe at my head just to ask if I'm your neighbor?" "You weren't listening! And you were running way too fast for me to catch up," Avaluan pouted, crossing her arms defensively. "Why do you care if I live here or not?" "I'm new to the neighborhood, and you're the only face I recognize," she grumbled, furrowing her brow. "Why are you always so grumpy anyway? Did I do something to you?" "Look," Stephanie said flatly, "if you're looking to make friends, you're knocking on the wrong door. You don't know my name, which means you don't know me. Go bother someone else." Without waiting for a reply, Stephanie turned and jogged back toward her gates. Avaluan stood in the middle of the street, clutching her retrieved shoe as she watched Stephanie disappear inside. She shook her head in disbelief. "Unbelievable," she muttered to herself. "I've never met someone so incredibly rude. I thought people like her only existed in TV dramas." She paused, the woman's earlier words echoing back in her mind. People write what we see on TV. The scenes are either real events or inspired by real happenings. Take your pick. Avaluan sighed deeply, slipping her shoe back on. "She has a point... but she's still so annoying!”