__NICKE'S POV__
RUSSIA.
Wednesday 24th, 3:00 AM.
The icy water wakes me, trickling down my skin and sending a jolt of adrenaline through me. There's no way I'm giving in to laziness. Dressed in my shorts and a t-shirt, I feel the morning chill assault me like a damn reminder to stay alert. I need to channel this surge of energy, and running will be my only escape.
I take off at a steady pace, my legs propelling my body with machine-like precision. I stay focused, not allowing anyone to distract me. Every movement is controlled.
It liberates me.
Back home, the place shines with an almost clinical cleanliness. The walls, stripped of any excess, bear a few carefully chosen pieces of art—just enough to avoid any nonsense.
I enter my room, where the fresh, pure air reminds me that I hate lingering here. My desk is perfectly organized, leaving no room for disorder.
After casting one last glance at the photo on my nightstand, I step out of my house. The memories of my family are a distraction I don't need, so I shove them out the door.
They are my chains.
I get into my car, speeding along the winding roads that take me far from this city. The HQ is miles away, hidden in the forest, a clandestine hideout belonging to the Furz.
*
As I delve deeper into the greenery, the tranquility distorts my mind, like a sweet poison. The villa looms in the distance, a true fortified fortress, where security is not just an option but a necessity.
Every detail, every corner is meticulously maintained, and believe me, I don't tolerate any crap here.
As I approach, the door opens with a smooth motion, like a hungry mouth welcoming me.
I step into the vast courtyard, a place where my men, loyal yet cautious, watch me with eyes full of respect. No noise, just the hum of ambient efficiency.
The interior is bathed in dim light, a strategic darkness.
Nothing to see from the outside.
The walls are undeniably clean. Graphs and schematics, bright projections, draw my eyes.
Here, everything is under my control; every movement is calculated, every breath must submit to me.
I make sure everything is perfect. The smooth surfaces shine, and I find myself smiling, thinking of those outside who don't understand the logic that governs this place.
Sometimes, a dull anger rumbles within me, and it's pure hell that reigns.
But in this villa, I am the king, the master of an empire where cleanliness borders on psychosis and cruelty reflects in everyone's eyes.
Everything is in its place, and those who dare to disturb this balance pay a heavy price.
I take a deep breath, the fresh forest air and the scent of adrenaline. In this space, I feel invincible, a perfectly uncontrollable machine.
I need to feel something, to feel alive. After all, this is my home.
My true home.
***
It's funny, isn't it? I say, slyly staring at the bloody clamp in my hand. A mocking smile stretches across my lips.
- Are you going to spend your evening with me? We are friends, after all. My voice is laced with sarcasm, my fake smile accentuating my words.
I step away from him, letting a heavy silence settle between us in the dark, cold, and damp basement of the HQ.
The concrete walls are marked by moisture stains, and a pale light struggles to pierce the darkness.
I really feel at home.
Torture tools are scattered around us, silent witnesses to the brutality that unfolds here.
Yet, I have organized them.
- I... I... I didn't... do anything, stammers Clawin, his face pale. Anxiety prevents him from breathing.
Clawin, tasked for years with controlling the ammunition for Furz, has always been a model of loyalty. But trust has blinded him. He started snooping where he shouldn't, trafficking with the competition, a completely insane idea.
I touch his face; it's as cold as the metal of the clamp I wield. Suddenly, he raises his head, stopping me just above his shaved skull. I fix him with my icy gaze, a smile filled with anger on my lips.
He doesn't speak.
- Who were they? my voice murmurs coldly as my gaze drifts into the darkness of the room.
In the end, the weapon isn't the option for tonight. I step toward the table, and Clawin coughs, a sign that he's about to speak.
I continue my walk and grab the syringe, no longer patient; forty-eight hours is enough.
- The Lega Echis, they want to take down Exus, he murmurs, his eyes half-closed.
- Exus, the largest mafia organization in Italy? Why? My tone betrays my curiosity.
- It's a woman who leads it. No one really knows her; she's never made a public appearance. According to a reliable source, she doesn't act alone. Being an ally, he should be in confidence with Exus, that's what they think, he says, likely sharing their opinion.
Standing before him, I tower over him. He provides me with information I already know.
I press my hands on the top of the backrest of the chair where he sits, bringing my face closer to his with a smile that holds no warmth.
- Why? And don't leave out any details, SUKA. I roar, making my voice echo in the basement. Fear seeps into him, and he begins to tremble.
That's the effect I have when I'm impatient.
- They're stealing weapons to take down the Exus trio. They've all allied together, but I don't know their leader. They say they don't want to obey a woman, especially since she's never presented herself to them, he utters, fear in his eyes.
Finally, something interesting.
- A trio? I express, straightening up and crossing my arms.
- Yes, they lead together. I don't know their names or faces, but there are two women and one man. They don't really have an identity; the one who always intervenes is called Hren, but that's not his real name, he finishes, panting with fright.
I look at him, hope shining in his eyes. It's almost touching, what he hopes to escape alive from here. I hold back a smile of pleasure and crouch down in front of him.
- You haven't been very helpful. I know you haven't told me everything, but that will do. You'll be less lazy in the sky. Although the sky would be a way to hide your face, I say with a sincere smile, heightening his fear.
I raise my hand to plunge the syringe into his neck, and I see fear paint itself across his face.
- You're going to die in a few hours, and I'm giving you the privilege of being buried before your complete death; am I not too kind? I sigh as his eyes widen in shock.
He's really weak, this son of a bitch.
I survived Novichok for over 30 minutes without treatment. That stuff paralyzes the muscles, including those that control breathing. It causes paralysis and eventually death by suffocation or cardiac arrest.
Bad memories.
I stand up, signaling to my men who enter, and I leave; they know what they need to do.
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