___PDV KIRA___
RUSSIA.
Saturday 27, 4 PM.
I observe Nash since our landing. Lucas has rented a discreet van to allow us to explore the city, just as Hren advised. The driver maneuvers calmly and gently. We will arrive at our meeting point in a few minutes.
Sitting serenely, Nash is scrolling through confidential information about Furz on her phone. I see her clenching her fists, her gaze hardening as she reads. She sighs, clearly worried about what she is discovering.
It's not that shocking; I've gone through their files, they're just mobsters.
I run my fingers through my blonde hair, pulling it in frustration at the realization that they can threaten us. I feel like I'm losing control. I'm stressed because I could screw everything up.
I stress, I pull my hair.
She remains impassive. Nash really isn't anxious. The old Nash would have been.
Finally, I grab my phone, which keeps buzzing, and I answer without looking at who it is.
- I just landed in Moscow, I'll join you in 30 minutes. Start without me, says Hren. I reply that we'll wait for him and hang up.
The luxury of the unknown, the hotel stands before us in all its beige and golden splendor. The facades adorned with refined architectural details and the shimmering chandeliers inside testify to the wealth that surrounds it.
It's already been ten minutes since we arrived, Nash and I, and there's no sign of our Russian contacts. Hren should be arriving in about 20 minutes.
A woman appears, knocks on the tinted window of the van, and then gestures for us to follow her. I pinch Nash to disconnect her from her phone, and I move.
We get out of the van and follow the young woman. She leads us to an elevator and presses the button for the top floor, the 11th.
I observe.
There's a camera in the elevator, and there are no other guests. The reception area seemed deserted, except for the omnipresent security.
The hotel is completely empty. Considering the number of wealthy individuals in Russia, it should be filled, but it's not.
- The hotel belongs to them; it's the wolf's mouth, Nash confirms, whispering so the woman can't hear.
I smile; a thrill of excitement mixed with anxiety runs through me.
- Yeah, it's dangerous, I murmur as quietly as possible.
We exchange a serious look, the tension palpable between us.
The elevator opens onto a large lounge in beige and gold tones, albeit darker. The bay window offers us a view of a sun that is present but without warmth.
With the room being empty, the woman indicates where we should sit and pours us some whiskey.
- I introduce myself, Ruthén, personal secretary of the "FURZ." They will be arriving in exactly two minutes, she says, turning her back to us to close the door two seconds later.
I observe the table between the couches; we will be seated face to face. "FURZ facing EXUS."
- Don't act impulsively; I can feel you're nervous, Nash orders me, fixing me with her hazel eyes.
- If I don't have reasons, I won't do it, I mutter, though the tension continues to build within me.
The door then opens. Two men enter the room, followed by a young woman whose cheeks are rosy due to her fair skin.
The palpable nervousness is visible on her face.
One of the two men sits across from Nash, followed by the young woman. She's dressed in a brown suit, while mine is black.
Perfect little redhead, her smile seems friendly, beyond her green eyes, but I sense she is hiding something.
The other man stands upright, with his back turned, talking on the phone. His dark hair immediately captures my attention, a color that gives him an alluring yet threatening presence.
His black shirt, slightly open, reveals a muscular torso when he turns around, sending a shiver of apprehension through me at the sight of his silhouette.
He hangs up and directs his gaze towards Nash, then towards me. I feel a wave of contempt emanating from him as he approaches and sits across from me, completely disregarding us.
The man with brown hair, in a black suit, rises to speak. The atmosphere becomes electric.
- Clev Orian Stovani, president of "FURZ," he announces in a firm voice.
He scans us one by one as he sits down, his eyes finally resting on Nash, who remains impassive, like a marble statue.
- Allya Vryne Siliev, 3rd chief. Welcome to you, she whispers confidently.
Contrast.
- Nicke, the man with dark hair bellows impassively.
Hren enters the room, and everything seems to freeze for a moment. His bright smile illuminates the atmosphere, and I can't help but feel a mix of admiration and apprehension.
He exudes natural confidence, as if he knows he is the center of attention. I wonder what he thinks as he sees us sitting there, waiting for his signal.
Is he aware of the effect he has on us?
I watch him cross the room to take his seat.
My eyes fall on Ruthén beside me, who cannot help but fix her gaze on the second chief of Furz with a burning intensity, a palpable desire in her eyes. She wants him, and it is clear on her face.
Well, well!
Hren sits across from the little redhead, and Ruthén distributes the contract to each of us before leaving the room. I grab the document, flipping through it distractedly.
After ten minutes, I toss it on the table. Everything is correct; the contract is in our favor. If we reach the Russian port, nothing will be on our shoulders anymore. They will send the money before the goods are transported.
I can't help but glance at Nash. Her face is focused, but I perceive a slight nervousness in the movement of her fingers, tracing circles on the table.
She knows that what we're doing is risky, but with Hren here, she must feel ready to face all challenges.
He seems detached, absorbed in the papers in his hands, but I wonder if his confidence is just a mask, like the one he wears all the time.
His smile.
I divert my gaze to the main chief, his left hand resting on the table, peacefully reading our share of the contract.
A black ring glimmers on his middle finger, catching my attention. I recall the research I did on them: black for the chief, gold and black for the second chief, and gold for the third chief.
My gaze quickly lands on the redhead's left middle finger, where a golden ring glimmers against her skin.
My eyes, now fixed on the second chief, prevent me from noticing the ring on his left hand.
I am then forced to raise my eyes to his other hand, which holds a glass of whiskey, accompanied by a piece of ice. It is at that moment that I spot his gold and black ring.
They all wear their rings on their middle fingers.
The glass, so close to his face, makes me hold my breath; the urge to dive into his glacier-blue irises consumes me.
Every detail of this meeting seems laden with meaning, and I sense that every gesture, every glance, might have consequences.
I turn my attention back to the contract spread before me, but my mind is elsewhere, absorbed by the interaction between Hren and Nash. I watch them, noting how she leans slightly towards him to speak.
They end up posing a question to the redhead, and everyone joins in the discussion.
Except for me.
The main chief, with a radiant smile, seems to be the center of attention, but I struggle to focus on his words.
I enjoy watching him.
His gaze remains fixed on Nash; he studies her with authority, speaking with energy and force to make his point understood. His hair suits him quite well, adding to his charisma.
His presence commands respect.
I lower my eyes to the black ring on his middle finger, which glimmers in a nearly threatening way, as a reminder of his authority.
Suddenly, I hear a curse.
We all turn our heads towards the dark-haired man, but he doesn't move, fixing me with palpable hatred. Two minutes pass, an eternity, before he finally decides to speak.
- You're letting yourself go, huh? he spits out contemptuously, a glint of disdain in his eyes.
His voice resonates, deep, and I immediately stiffen. His piercing gaze forces me to sit up straighter on the couch, my heart racing.
The couch is soft.
I straighten up with a nonchalance that contrasts with the turmoil within me. Inside, I'm boiling, but my face remains impassive, a façade I'm trying to maintain.
His nearly icy blue eyes seem to destabilize me. I attempt to gather my thoughts, but a fog clouds my mind.
I turn to Nash; she remains calm, with a disturbing serenity as she holds his gaze.
I adore her brown hair.
Her impassivity contrasts with the agitation I feel. It's a silent invitation for me to calm down.
At that moment, I strive to heed her advice, refocusing on my breathing, trying to chase away the panic rising within me. I have faith in her.
I observe, I breathe, I forget.
The hotel exudes an atmosphere of ostentatious wealth.
I feel I'm going to lose control; I need to leave the room.
The glittering chandeliers and the plush carpets add to the opulence of the place... Confidential information about Furz resurfaces in my memory.
Nicke Kheïl Stovani, that's him. This Russian psychopath.
Rage surges through me, fueled by the memory of his actions. I can't remain silent any longer. I slowly rise, challenging his gaze with an affected boredom, but my fists are clenched, betraying the storm brewing inside.
- If you're looking for prey, look elsewhere; you have no idea what I'm capable of, Nicke, I fling out in a cold voice, each word resonating like thunder.
I channel myself.
I turn on my heel, leaving the room,
leaving behind the shadow of this first encounter, marked by a loss of control.
I pull my hair as I hear a glass shatter.
Bastard.
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