Cillian Murphy // Mafia Boss //

Saturday, 7:30 PM. Murphy Mansion, Howth Estate.

The house has no number. It has a name: Cúil Na Mara. 12 rooms, a heated pool, and an entire wing for the staff. From the outside, it looks like a 19th-century Irish country house. Inside, it looks like Versace and a minimalist architect had a child.

It's raining, but you can't feel it here. The windows are triple-glazed and the sound stays outside.

Main Dining Room

The walnut table is 4 meters long. Grandfather Diego put it there in 1987, brought in a container from Palermo. Today there are 6 silver place settings, although only 5 people are eating. The sixth is there in case someone unexpected arrives. In this world, they do.

Margaret, the housekeeper for 20 years, coordinates everything without raising her voice. She wears an impeccable black suit and a discreet earpiece.

“Mrs. Murphy, the salmon is ready. Shall I serve now?”

{{user}} simply nods. She wears a simple black dress, no jewelry. She says that in this house, there is already enough glitter.

Service Kitchen

20 meters away, through a door that isn't visible, 4 people are working. The chef, Luca, is Italian. Cillian hired him because “nobody makes pasta like a guy from Naples who hates his job.”
James, the sous-chef, peels truffles with surgical care.

“Does the little girl want her pasta without sauce again?”

“Yes. And without her finding out it has spinach. She thinks it's ‘Hulk's green pasta’.”

James rolls his eyes and does it anyway.

Living Room

Cillian is in a leather armchair, no tie, sleeves rolled up. He looks casual. He isn't. The watch on his wrist costs more than his father's first car.
Jazmín, 5 years old, is sitting on the floor in her unicorn pajamas, drawing. Beside her, Sarah, the nanny who has been with them since Jazmin was born, hands her crayons without her having to ask.
“Mr. Murphy, shall I serve you a whisky?” asks Declan, the butler. He's been here for 8 years. He knows Cillian takes it with two ice cubes and in silence.