The move to New York was not easy for Broken-Glass-Ramona. Finding the right home was the first challenge. The city had an abundance of row houses and tenements for the citizens that made up the lower classes; the thought of trying to secure a residence that was packed amongst others like canned sardines was most unappealing. She did come across some decent apartments, but they weren't her style--it was hard to compete with the sprawling hacienda she had on the West coast. But she was able to find a charming three-story, five-bedroom stand alone home on Fenimore Street, newly built. The three stories were wall-to-wall dark hardwood floors with stone fireplaces. Below was a spacious cellar, ample enough for enough fine hooch and Spanish wine for endless nights to come. 

The plot was fairly small compared to the stretch of desert or beach in Mexico or California to which Ramona was accustomed, but it was enough for her to create her own secret garden. That is once the weather warmed up. As of now her new home was covered in a swathe of snow. Ramona was not enjoying the frigid air as much--she preferred balmy breezes that warranted gossamer dresses, so thin they leave little to the imagination. Here she had to bundle up in thick coats and leather booties. She was glad for the stone fireplaces. 

Ramona's bodyguard opened the door for her as she returned from a gallery job. She shed her warm layers, tossing them aside with a small flurry of snow flakes. The heels of her boots clicked against the wooden floors as she walked to the sitting room, gracefully sitting down on one of the leather chairs to unlace her boots. One of her bodyguards was waiting, cigarette in hand. After kicking off the boots, she straightened and the man placed the cigarette to her lips, bringing a lighter up with his other hand. She took a deep drag, blowing out her thanks as he disappeared back to the edge of the room. "Hace demasiado frío," she muttered to herself. She reached up and unpinned her hair, letting it fall in dark waves around her face and shoulders. Shaking it out, she stood and made her way up the stairs to her room. 

She finished her cigarette as she made her way to her room, a spacious master she had decked out in luxury. A king size bed was the centerpiece, plush rugs donned the floors, and cushions were scattered about the room and in front of the large bay windows. She slipped out of her tight-fitting dark trousers and blouse and slipped into a silken gown. As she went to bed, she thought to herself, I think I'll throw a party soon, and show this new city what kind of fire I'm made of.