Day 2)
Thursday, 02, 11 AM.
A dark and muted office, illuminated by the soft light of a desk lamp, a large bed with thick white sheets, and a bathroom next door.
She really gave me a shitty room.
Shadows dance on the walls in various shapes, creating a soothing ambiance. I sit behind a mahogany desk, the scent of my lit cigar floating in the air.
I hold my phone to my ear; Matvei is ringing on the other end.
- What have you done this time, little insolent? he exclaims as soon as he picks up the phone.
Insolent? I smile, amused by his tone.
- Слушай, сын. It's about power, Lega Echi, where are you with them? He continues, not waiting for a response.
I scan the room, the echo of my thoughts resonating in the silence. Loyalty is rare.
- Nicke. You haven't done anything, have you? They're gaining influence and think they're above everyone else, he inquires, trying to grab my attention.
Pure illusion.
- They don't stand a chance. From the beginning, we've had a head start. They want to play, but we've already set the table, I say to stop his rambling.
The reality is harsh.
- Maybe they underestimate our alliance with the Exus. That could cost us dearly, he pronounces through the phone, his voice betraying obvious boredom.
He doesn't really care about the situation. I lean forward, a cold smile on my lips.
- Don't be naïve, Matvei. The Exus are far from what they claim to be. They're just pawns, I say, trying to pull him out of his silence.
- You, son, don't be stupid. Pawns are only placed after the game board is set, he finishes, as the atmosphere shifts with his words.
- What plans? Are we letting the Exus handle it? he asks, coughing slightly into the receiver.
- Exactly. Let's watch them kill each other. Imagine: they think they're clever, but we have an eye on all their movements, I say, amused by the situation.
She won't let it go.
- That makes sense. By ignoring them, we keep our hand hidden. But if it intensifies… he begins softly, stopping himself.
His brain just skipped some words.
- And right at the end, we'll emerge from the shadows, he agrees, confirming what I thought. He's distracted, but I know he's following.
- Speak, father, I say in a calm but cold voice.
A glacial smile forms on my face.
- So, you continue to play in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to make a move? he declares behind the piece of metal in my hands.
- Yes, I reply simply with nonchalance.
The witch must have opened her big mouth again. It's her job; I don't hold it against her, but damn...
- I advise you not to mess up the deal. You want to play, go ahead, but remember that when the bomb explodes, it doesn't choose its proximity. Nor its power, he warns me with his eternal paternal tone.
A bomb? No.
- Mind your own business, father, I finish, trying to control my anger, not forgetting to hang up with hatred and force.
I rise, the cigar between my fingers, and look out the window. The city stretches out before me, full of mysteries and dangers.
Being in the heart of the city, I can see everything, control everything from the window, but it's just a normal villa, a bit too mundane.
It's clear this isn't the Exus HQ; that would be quite stupid, and that word doesn't rhyme with Moya Zlaya. She disappeared since this morning, leaving me to my own devices.
I have a strong desire to see her.
Next time, I'll follow her, and maybe I'll have the chance to see her in all her forms.
If there's one thing I've noticed, it's that when I approach her, I don't leave her indifferent. I know that every movement counts, that every decision can tip the balance.
And I intend to play tonight.
I start to reflect. Matvei is right about one thing: the Exus are unpredictable. I can't afford to let them know that Lega Echi is one of our puppets.
I am the master of the game, and I intend to remain so.
I leave my room and head toward hers. I pass by the bar, pouring myself a glass of whiskey. The golden liquid glides into my glass, and I raise it toward the reflection of my face in the mirror. A satisfied smile spreads across my lips.
I am a player, and I know how to manipulate the pieces on the chessboard.
I find her door ajar, and I wonder if it's a trap. She couldn't have been naive enough to leave it open, could she?
Damn, this woman.
I run a hand over my face, impassive. I feel an urge to laugh. I don't know if it's her or if it's me, but this girl has me under her spell, walking straight into her trap without a second thought.
Hate me even more, Moya Zlaya.
The room is shrouded in semi-darkness, the curtains drawn just enough to let in a sliver of light that casts shadows on the walls. She's there, sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on me, a cryptic smile playing on her lips.
She's already back!
- You're late, she says in a soft, almost mocking voice.
I approach slowly, savoring the moment. Every step is calculated, every gesture a piece of theater.
- I don't like to be rushed, I reply, feigning indifference.
Don't smile.
She rises, closing the distance between us, and I can feel the tension in the air. It's a dangerous game, and she's not ready to play by the rules.
- You know, Nicke, I often wonder what you hide behind that mask. You're so confident, but I sense there's more than you let on.
I watch her, intrigued. She's right, of course. But I can't show her my cards.
Not now.
- And you, Moya Zlaya, what do you hide behind that smile? A heartless killer? I retort, challenging her gaze as I step closer.
She bursts into laughter, a crystalline sound that resonates in the room.
I love this situation.
- Oh, I'm an enigma, that's true. But I'm also an opportunist. And I know how to recognize a player when I see one, or rather, a psychopath, she finishes, running her fingers through her long blonde hair.
I step even closer, reducing the distance between us.
- So, what do you propose, opportunist? I ask, initiating a duel of glances.
She tilts her head, her piercing gaze trying to decipher mine.
- I'm tired of playing alone, she replies, shrugging her shoulders, a glimmer of defiance in her eyes.
I smile, amused by her proposition. She knows how to play her cards, and I must admit, it intrigues me.
But I can't let myself be fooled.
- Very well, Moya. But remember, in this game, there's no room for feelings. Just strategic moves, I remind her, my voice growing more serious.
She nods, her smile widening as if she relishes the challenge.
- I'm not the type to get attached, Nicke. I prefer temporary alliances. It's easy to dispose of them, she says with a teasing smile, her eyes sparkling with calculated mischief.
I furrow my brows, a dull irritation rising within me.
I lift my glass of whiskey, bringing it to my lips for a quick gulp, the burning liquid sliding down my throat.
- Temporary alliance? Are we talking about the same thing? I ask, my voice tinged with anger, gripping the glass tightly, trying not to judge too quickly.
She meets my gaze, a spark of defiance lingering in her eyes, as if she knows exactly which strings to pull to provoke me.
- May the best player win, she repeats, and I know this is just the beginning of a much more complex game.
- I don't play with whores, Kira, I say, my voice turning sharper, before turning my back to her, feeling anger surge within me.
I can't let her provocations get to me. I'll show her that I'm not a man to be taken lightly.
With my phone in hand, I call the witch to ask for information. Even the little she can provide will be enough.
I'll have everyone who's ever touched her killed, no matter the method.
I sense that the night will be long, filled with my machinations and secrets.
But I'm ready.
Kira, with your enigmatic smile and carefree attitude, you show that you don't know who you're dealing with.
You're playing with fire, and I'm the arsonist. I'll manipulate you, make you dance on my strings, and when you think you have control, I'll strike.
I hang up, a cruel smile forming on my lips. The game has only just begun, and I'm determined to make this night a masterpiece of manipulation and cruelty.
You'll hear from me tomorrow. I'll make sure you understand that in this game, I'm the one pulling the strings.
My puppets never free themselves from their strings except through death, and she, like so many others, will have to pay the ultimate price for her freedom.
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