Twelfth of September

Zane:

The first thing I see when I wake up is a message from Boris asking me to meet him at his house. A part of me feels this is not going to be a pleasant meet up, but I try to shrug it off.

When I get to his villa, I make my way inside, heading straight to the living room where I find him by his bar in a corner, sipping from a glass of wine with one of his men on standby.

“Good morning, father,” I announce from the door, making my way to him.

“Good morning, Zane,” he replies in a stiff tone and then turns to the man beside him. “Leave,” he says to him, and the man gives a nod, making his way out of the room while I rest my hand on the counter.

Some may think it is a little too early to drink, but drinking knows no bounds in my father’s house.

“Pour yourself a glass,” he says, and I do so, then I clink mine with his.

He forces a smile on his face.

I take my shot, and he does too, both of us squeezing our faces at the burning sensation. I pour another one for myself, and he presents