THE EXCLUSION ZONE
The scent of truffles and expensive perfume hit him instantly.
The hostess, a blonde with eyes like ice, didn’t even blink.
“Hey, you!” her voice cracked like a whip. “Wrong door, grandpa.”
Santiago shrank back.
“I’m just hungry… I have money…” he wheezed.
The manager was already rushing over. A hulk in a suit that cost more than an average person’s life savings.
“Get this trash out of here,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Now.”
My people… I pay their salaries… And they act like animals.
The security guard grabbed him by the collar.
“We serve the elite here, not the shelter crowd,” the guard whispered in his ear, shoving him onto the street. “Get to the dumpster before I call the cops.”
Santiago hit the wet asphalt.
Physical pain. But the heartbreak was worse.
He got up and moved on. The “Cinnamon” bar.
Same story. Disdain. Threats. Laughter behind his back.
One place remained. “Bambino.” The small Italian joint where it all began.
If they kicked him out here, his empire would die with him.