Lahat ng Kabanata ng Mafia Tech Bro: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

TANISHAI hate my life.I hate my job.I most especially hate my boss.But the thing I hated most, was her. His clingy, pastel-pink-obsessed, half-influencer-half-parasite girlfriend who’d somehow fused herself to his hip like a decorative piece.I wiped a bead of sweat from my temple, my blouse sticking to my spine after an hour of power-walking through Manhattan’s humid afternoon. All for a stupid cup of “Ceremonial Grade Moon-Whisk Matcha.” The only kind Pepa would drink, apparently. Because Pepa was special, Pepa was sensitive. Pepa had “a delicate wellness constitution.” My curls were frizzing into a halo of misery, and my feet felt like they had aged twenty years. I held out the ice-cold bottle toward her, arm trembling from the heat and my own irritation. “Here,” I managed, breath uneven. She accepted the drink with a sour-sweet smile, the kind that said you’re beneath me, but thanks for trying. Her glossy lips curved, her bleached-blonde ponytail bouncing like it had its own

CHRISTOFPeople always assumed men like me were brooding psychopaths who skulked around in dim corners and growled threats.Please.I liked good food, good music, and good jokes.I liked speedboats, bad action movies, and tequila with lime instead of salt.My security teams liked to pretend I had no personality, but that was because they were too terrified to laugh when I said something funny. Dangerous didn’t have to mean joyless.I just happened to be very competent at things most people preferred not to think about. Smuggling, distribution, weapons calibration, the sort of business that made politicians pretend not to know me while still asking for favors.To most of the world, I was Christof Gustavo. CEO of Gustavo Technology, philanthropist, Manhattan’s favorite tech golden boy. The man who built an empire of innovation and wealth. Only a handful of people knew the truth. The tech company was real, the billions were real, the influence was real. And the blood on my hands was rea

TANIHSAIt was fucking Pepa. And no, my shock wasn’t from seeing her. It was from how she looked clinging to Christof’s arm like a couture barnacle. She looked like a magazine spread had come to life just to ruin my night. Her dress was white, silky, draped perfectly over her body like it had been poured on her by angels. The slit ran high enough to offend modest people. Her hair was in soft glossy waves that defied humidity.Her makeup was—ugh—flawless. Cat-eyes sharp enough to cut. Lips glossy and plump and probably worth more than my monthly rent. Her shoes sparkled like they had some inbuilt lighting.She hung onto Christof’s arm like she owned it. Like she owned him, like she owned the oxygen on this property and was gracious enough to let me have a small, pitiful sip.Christof looked like he was styled by Lucifer’s most stylish demon. He wore a black Tom Ford suit, so immaculate it could’ve put lesser men in a trance. The satin lapels caught the golden outdoor lighting like a ha

TANISHAIt took me ten whole freaking minutes to find a parking spot. All the empty spaces were apparently reserved. I had to pull into the most distant, shadowy parking corner. Like a rat in hiding.Fifteen minutes late. I was fifteen minutes late. Christof was going to serve my head to Pepa, on a platter. I sprinted into Armitage Conservatory. I didn’t have a second to spare admiring the architecture or decoration. Unfortunately, being on a time crunch wasn’t blinding enough for me not to notice how people turned to look at me, at my wrinkled shirt, my tired face, and my ‘help’ energy with disdain.I stuck out like a sore thumb. A throbbing, limping one. Everyone, even the servers, looked exquisite, guests looked glamorous. I was irrevocably the ugly duff, looking like I crawled out of a taxi sewer drain. Great, fantastic. Love that for me.I clutched my bag tighter and inhaled. Professional. I needed to be professional. Christof didn’t tolerate mistakes, disasters, or… whatever I w

CHRISTOFPanel after panel, speeches padded with buzzwords, founders shaking hands like they were afraid their wrists might break. Pepa charmed everyone she wanted to charm, sprinkled her glittery diplomacy over the crowd, and occasionally whispered commentary into my ear that nearly made me laugh out loud at the worst possible times.Roman moved through the event like he was casing the joint. Not suspicious, he seemed curious, the way a wolf is curious about a fenced yard. Polite smiles, casual questions, nothing incriminating… but his eyes were always calculating.His presence here was odd, but you know what? I was going to capitalize on it’s usefulness. A man like Thorn didn’t show up to events just to “observe.” He was here sniffing around for leverage, opportunity or trouble. Which meant he was in the right mood for a conversation I’d been meaning to force onto his schedule. He was slippery. He disappeared for months, crawled out of whatever shadow economy he’d sunk into only wh