Derrick Graves | Mafia

The day turned out to be as ordinary as many before it. Sunlight gently draped over the streets, lazily sliding across windowpanes, as if in no hurry to surrender to night. Derrick, a glass of whiskey in hand and his usual sense of calm settling over him, was preparing to spend a few quiet hours in his private billiard club — a secluded space where nothing distracted him from the game or his thoughts. Nothing foreshadowed any chaos — just another visit to his hidden sanctuary, where only he and his men had access. The place, adorned in warm wooden tones and soft lighting, carried the scent of polish, tobacco, and a touch of nostalgia. The atmosphere was always relaxed, a familiar haunt where his mafia associates came to drink and chase balls across the felt.

He was already gearing up for practice, arranging the balls with habitual precision, when one of the guards entered the room, looking slightly uneasy.

"Excuse me, sir…" he began, somewhat hesitant. "There’s a girl at the entrance… insists she has an appointment. Says she came for training. We tried explaining that this is a private space, but she refuses to leave and is demanding an administrator."

"An administrator?" Derrick raised an eyebrow, setting his cue down on the velvet table.

"Yes. She won’t listen to anything we say and said she’s not leaving without the administrator. She’s... very persistent, sir."

"Interesting," Derrick murmured, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. "Alright, I’ll go see who’s so determined."

With a faint smirk, Derrick straightened up and headed for the entrance. Curiosity stirred in him — a rare sensation, but one that occasionally led him to make strange, sometimes even foolish decisions. He stepped into the corridor and glanced toward the glass door. Outside, shifting from foot to foot, stood a young woman. Her face a mix of irritation and indignation. Flustered, with slightly tousled hair and bright eyes brimming with confusion and defiance, she stood with arms crossed and tapped her foot lightly, clearly annoyed by the situation. Her cheeks were puffed out like a sulky child’s — a sight both endearing and slightly ridiculous.

"And what do you expect me to do?"* she was exclaiming to the guard.* "Stand here all night? I happen to have a schedule! I’m not going to be late just because of your bureaucracy!"

Derrick, watching the scene unfold, unexpectedly found himself smiling. Something in her tone and appearance struck a chord. It wasn’t aggression — more like impulsive youthful certainty, something rarely found in his usual company.

He opened the door and stepped outside.

"Is there a problem?" he asked calmly.

"Are you… the administrator?" she asked at once, spotting Derrick.

"You could say that," he replied with a sly smile. "How can I help?"

"I’m signed up for a training session. I got a call, was told to come to this address. And the security…" — she shot an annoyed glance at the guard — "they won’t let me in!"

Derrick smirked. His gaze swept over her from head to toe — surprise first, then a flicker of caution, and finally, amusement.

"I see…" Derrick nodded with utmost seriousness, though his voice hinted at subtle sarcasm. "Alright. If you say you’re expected… then I suppose we really should have a training session."

She looked surprised but didn’t question him, following him inside. The billiard hall was wrapped in hushed quiet. Light fell squarely on the green felt, outlining the table like a stage. Around them — shelves of trophies, velvet chairs, and a polished floor reflecting their movements. The girl glanced shyly at the cue Derrick handed her.

"Where do I start?" she asked uncertainly, gripping it in both hands like a sword.

"With the basics. How to hold the cue, how to stand, how to breathe. Everything starts with balance," he replied calmly, stepping behind her.

He spoke softly, unrushed. Time stretched, melting into a sequence of smooth motions. He demonstrated the shots, then let her try. She missed — awkwardly at first, almost comically — but with each minute she grew more confident. He corrected her posture, lightly touching her shoulder, guiding her hand into place. Sometimes she laughed, sometimes frowned when the ball veered off course. Derrick watched her — and without even realizing it, was enjoying himself.

The first hour passed this way. He was patient, though at times secretly amused by her clumsy attempts. He explained how to hold the cue, how to aim, how to breathe before the strike. There was something oddly relaxing about it. His own training session faded into the background — now, he was fully focused on her. By the end of the second hour, she was confidently aiming at the cue ball, and even managed to land a shot exactly where she intended. She laughed when she missed, and genuinely celebrated when the balls scattered just right.

The session time was quietly slipping away. Less than ten minutes remained when she took her place at the edge of the table, carefully taking aim. Derrick moved closer — almost flush against her — though still maintaining a respectful distance, so as not to overwhelm or embarrass her. He wrapped his hand around hers, guiding the motion, and gently pressed against her back.

"Don’t lock your elbow. Relax your shoulder," he whispered in her ear, and she nodded obediently.

They froze for a moment. Only their steady breathing and the soft creak of the floorcloth beneath their feet could be heard. Her stance — nearly perfect. He tightened his grip on her hand slightly, continuing in a voice now tinged with playful sarcasm:

"Oh, and by the way… the billiard club you were looking for…" — he nudged her hand forward, sending the cue into the ball, which sank into the pocket with a clean click — "is across the street."