Santina drew on yet another cigarette as she oversaw the moving men. Keeping her head low had fared her well and was looking good on her. She no longer needed the seedy apartment. She was able to…acquire…a house on the edge of the city. Not quite in the suburbs—she wanted to keep away from the peeping eyes of the affluent and their tabloid shadows—but far enough out of the city that she wouldn't be bombarded with the destitute and their damned begging. She was just close enough to the action.

She stubbed out her cigarette butt in an ashtray sitting on the porch railing. Turning on her heel she sauntered inside the house. It smelled of fresh paint and wood polish. The style was certainly different from her home in Mexico, but these Anglos had a different style for everything. She tried to make it feel like home as much as possible. She had the walls redone from their lifeless pale colors to thick, bold Mayan designs. The furniture pieces she picked out to adorn the place were all leather- and velvet-clad beasts with heavy wooden frames. She almost felt sorry for the moving men. Almost.

She walked through the foyer, her heels clicking against the tile. She ran her fingers over the handrail of the stairs as she passed them, making her way down the hall to the right instead. Down the hall she passed several rooms until she got to one on the end—her office. Nodding to the two men waiting outside the door, she walked in and let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting. This room she had done differently. While the rest of the house was all bright colors and bold patterns, this room was simpler but also daring. Adorned in black and white, it was all drama. This room had another big difference from the others in the house. Every room had huge windows—except this one. This room had no windows at all, leaving it dark and foreboding. Just the way Santina liked it.

She looked over the room to make sure it was to her liking. She had insisted this room be set up first. There was a large black stone desk at the very back of the room, several black, plush leather chairs situated facing the desk. The rug was black, lain over the black and white checkered tile floor. The ceiling was white with a sun pattern carved in the wood in the center of the room, a simple chandelier hanging from it. A wet bar had been built into the wall in one corner of the room; it held several cut-glass decanters housing some of the finest spirits, matching glasses on a shelf below. Santina gave a single, curt nod in approval at the state of the room.

Santina checked her personal inventory secreted within the room, then walked back out without acknowledging the men posted outside. She made her way back down the hall to the foyer, where she turned to the left into a sitting room. With the rug laid and the furniture in place, this was almost looking complete. The moving men were now bringing in the numerous potted plants and paintings. Santina reached out to run her fingers through the tendrils of a fern as one of the men walked by. She looked forward to her new home looking like an exotic jungle. She sat down on one of the austere couches, gesturing to one of the body guards standing in the corner of the room. He swiftly came over to her as she was pulling a cigarette out and had a flame ready right as she put it to her lips. Once the cigarette was lit, he then laid an ashtray on the side table beside her.

Before he disappeared back into the shadows of the room, Santina said to him, “Please let the family know that my door is always open to them.” He nodded, then looked around taking assessment of how many men were posted in the room. Satisfied, he briskly walked out of the sitting room and through the front door. Without looking, Santina knew that he was checking with the bodyguards posted on the property before leaving. She leaned back in the couch and closed her eyes. Not too bad, she thought to herself as she considered her new abode. It wasn't ostentatious. Just two stories, a few rooms per floor. She took a long drag of her cigarette, letting the smoke curl from her lips. It’s starting to feel like una casa.

Santina glanced over her complete and furnished home before she walked out the door. She was pleased with how well it all came together. As she walked out, a bodyguard pulled the door shut behind her and locked up the house. Another held her coat, and she gladly accepted it against the chill. Two more men followed behind as she walked up to the car and driver that they hired. Her bags were already in the boot. She slipped into the backseat and gave one last look at her home. Traveling was the bane of what she did, but it was necessary. As the car slipped away from the front of the house, all she could think of was when she could be back and hopefully hosting some of her family members. Pronto, mi familia. Pronto, she thought.