Chapter 10

**Day 4**

_PDV NICKE_

Saturday, 04, 10 AM

I have been watching her drive, with a fascinating impassivity, for fifteen minutes. She doesn't even glance at me, and she looks magnificent like this.

She captures all my attention without even giving me a look.

Her green blouse accentuates her silhouette, while her black pants perfectly hug her thighs and flare out over her legs.

I divert my gaze from her to focus on the road, although it costs me, as we leave the city heading towards an important meeting.

I don't know much about this meeting.

Her phone rings, she answers it, and a man's voice resonates through the speakers.

- Are you on your way, Cress? he asks respectfully.

- Open up, we're here, she replies, cutting him off, then hangs up.

- Cress? I don't like that, I let her know, which earns me a dark look.

- Mind your own business, Nicke, she snaps coldly, her eyes fixed on the road.

- Focus on the road, Moya Zlaya. Are you still mad at me? I try to tease her to lighten the mood.

This morning, when I found myself in her room, she insulted me in Italian. Although I didn't understand her words, I imagine she was threatening me with death.

Her accent is enchanting.

I felt the urge to silence her brutally, so I went to relieve myself alone in my room. Otherwise, I would have continued to watch her seduce me with a troubling innocence.

Her lips are very alluring, accentuated by the movement of her tongue that makes them even more irresistible. She turns towards a white marble villa and enters, greeted by her men.

- Listen, her name is Sofia, she's Russian and an expert in her field. Get to know her and let me do my job. Stop being interested in me, once again, Nicke, she whispers to me before stepping out of the black Porsche. She hands over the keys and strides towards the house.

I follow her inside, where the decor is refined, but the bright lights already give me a headache. I leave the driveway to enter a room with chairs, tables, and a chandelier.

I sit next to Moya Zlaya and directly fix my gaze on the three men and two women who are also present.

They start discussing, but I barely listen. I spot an Italian woman who is attentively listening to her boss speak. Blonde with brown eyes, well-proportioned and with plump lips, she fails to spark my interest.

I fix my gaze on the other woman sitting across from me, a brunette with brown eyes, who showcases her figure. She rests her elbows on the table, and I have a clear and detailed view.

Her attributes are average.

I divert my gaze back to Moya Zlaya, whose small freckles make them even more attractive, and they are generous.

She is the one I desire.

She doesn't notice my gaze, continuing to converse with the man across from her, who can't help but ogle her breasts.

A dull anger rises within me, a rumble that is ready to explode. I cut their exchange with a calm but icy tone.

- No introduction? I say, my voice firm even though my control wavers.

Kira looks up at me. I see her, the innocent little blonde, magnificent breasts, her big green eyes locked onto mine.

This sight awakens my urges, my anger intensifies; she must be mine, for me and me alone. So close, sitting next to me, she becomes irresistible. I could take her in a thousand ways, without any restraint.

- We have with us Kheïl Stovani, and here are the organizers of the evening: Sélène the supervisor, she says, pointing to the blonde, then Sofia, your new secretary.

Then Sofia stands up to sit next to me, confident.

- Gospodin, ya k vashim uslugam, she murmurs, "Sir, I am at your service."

I interrupt her with a cold, impassive smile.

- All of them? I say, not hiding my boredom.

She nods and pours me a glass of whiskey. I take it, bringing the liquid to my lips while devouring Sélène's bust with my eyes.

Moya Zlaya, you would have occupied me longer, with that Italian... blonde, more my type.

But my eyes see elsewhere; one of the three men present in the room is leering too obviously at Kira, staring at her curves. It burns inside me.

Jealousy surges, ready to explode.

- Do you see that guy over there? I say, pointing to the man. He's looking at you, Kira. Do you really think I'm going to sit here and say nothing? I clench my fists, cold, my voice icy.

She watches me.

- What does it matter to you? She turns her gaze away, calm as always, not trembling.

My jaw tightens. Rage rises like a flame in my throat. The guy in question gives me a provocative grin, challenging my patience.

Does he think he can provoke me? I still control myself for Moya Zlaya.

- We're done here; the rest is pretty simple, the colors have been chosen. I'd like to talk to you, Cress, he says, leering at her breasts again.

I slowly straighten up, my muscles tense. He must think that Italy is my limit; the rumors about me haven't reached his ears, or he doubts them.

- No way, Moya Zlaya doesn't move, I declare with a raw calm, no one could guess the anger that is boiling inside me right now.

He smiles, insisting that he needs to talk to her.

The atmosphere becomes electric. The others freeze, surprised by my sudden outburst. Kira places a hand on my arm, her voice tinged with softness but firm.

- Nicke! Calm down! She withdraws her hand, the gesture that was holding me back from completely exploding.

I don't listen to her. In a swift motion, I grab the bottle from the table and smash it over the intermediary's head. The glass shatters into a thousand pieces, blood flows.

Chaos erupts in the room, and I revel in the fear in his eyes as he collapses before me. The sound of his body hitting the ground reminds me of countless memories.

He is motionless.

- No one gets close to you, especially not in front of me, I hiss, remaining impassive, cold, my eyes cruel.

Silence falls, heavy, then Kira stares at me, a mix of fear and anger in her eyes.

- What are you doing, Nicke?! she says, her eyes shining with a worry that pierces me. Control yourself.

She's worried about him?

- I did what was necessary. You doubt the rumors, but not mine. Don't call me a psychopath if you don't know who I am, Kira, I finish, my breath controlled, my voice dark, almost threatening.

Our gazes lock, heavy with consequences. This silent weight of what I refuse to accept, that someone dares to approach what belongs to me.

She is mine. And no one, ever, will touch her without going through me.

The smell of blood mingles with that of alcohol and sweat, creating a nauseating atmosphere that contrasts with the palpable tension in the room.

The walls, adorned with abstract paintings, seem to close in around us, as if to remind us of the absurdity of the situation.

The faces of the others, frozen between horror and disbelief, add a surreal touch to this chaotic tableau.

She is just beginning to know me. On this thought, I leave the room, feeling her gaze on me.

That's my definition of "chemistry," Moya Zlaya.

Thanks for reading.