The city stretched beneath us is alive yet distant, as I tilted my head back to the midnight sky of Cuba. A lone airplane drifted overhead,
Beside me, Nigel sat on the edge of the rooftop, the same place we always ended up hung out with. When the world felt too loud.
Few empty beer cans lay scattered around us, evidence of time slipping by unnoticed.
I handed him a pack of kimbap that I brought earlier from a store I passed along the way
I cracked open another can, just to realize it was already my fifth beer. The metallic taste lingered, dull and familiar.
I visited Nigel just to nag on. He's been skipping school for four days straight, so I figured I'd check up on this idiot myself.
"If you ever won the lottery…, what would you do?" he asked out of the blue
I glanced at him, brows knitting. "Wait—did you actually win?"
"Idiot, I said if, didn't I?"
"Chill out, motherfucker…" I shot back with a scoff "…How was I supposed to know if you actually brought a ticket and won?"
"Tsk." I let out a small laugh.
"Well…" I leaned back slightly, staring out at the distant glow of the city. "I'd buy a mansion somewhere, probably in the Manhattan. Then I'd find a private island—some place where I could just swim ass naked at the beach… and I'd travel across the world."
Something soft hit my arm. I looked down to see the plastic pack of kimbap that Nigel had tossed at me playfully.
"Don't you think you'd burn through all that money too fast?" A small smirk tugging at his lips.
"At least I'd enjoy it,"
We shared a quiet laugh, letting our eyes wander over the city lights that flickered like tiny stars below us.
"And you?" I asked, tossing the question back "If you actually won the lottery, what would you do?"
He didn't hesitate. "I'd leave this place."
The words settled between us, heavy.
I glanced at the bruises on his face, the swelling on his arm, and the fading marks on his leg—
looks like he'd gotten into another fight.
"…Then just like you I'd travel the world," he said, and this time we both laughed together.
I raise my beer to clink our cans together with a soft metallic ring, watching as the city lights shimmered in the puddles on the roof
But our laughter died instantly as the rooftop door slammed open violently, rattling the frame with a harsh crash.
Nigel stands on his feet at once as I followed, eyes locked on Fin.
"Fin!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the tension, just as Fin yanked Nigel by the shirt collar. Anger radiated
"Fuck you, Nigel! You screwed us over!"
I shot Nigel a confused look, my eyes silently asking what the hell was going on.
"Fin… I didn't expect the guy I tipped off would be a cop" Nigel yelled, his shirt being grabbed roughly by Fin.
"They took down my gang, Damn it! I almost got busted Nigel! Thanks to your stupid ass!"
"Wait, Fin—" I tried to intervene, but he shoved me violently.
I lost my balance, stumbling over scattered cans. My back slammed into the concrete floor, and I barely managed to brace myself with my elbow. Pain shot up my arm.
"Zaharya!" Nigel shouted, rage cracking his voice. "…Fuck, Fin!"
He shoved Fin, but the moment he did, Fin landed a sharp punch that sent Nigel to step back.
They went back and forth, each hit more desperately than the last,
Fin fist cutting through the cold night air. Gil ducked just in time, countering with a sharp jab to his ribs. He grunted, staggering back —and stepped right into a trash can, clanging against the rooftop.
A sharp counter kick sent Gil sprawling follow by another punch, forcing him to stumble against the rooftop wall…
….and it quickly became clear Nigel was losing the fight.
Then Fin pulled out a knife.
I watched through my pupils, how he drives the knife into Nigel' abdomen.
Time slowed, triggering a memory I had tried to bury—
My mother kneeling on the floor, begging to one of the mobsters
They came to settle my father's debts.
Father become addicted to gambling, reason he lost everything, leaving us buried in debt.
That night, my mother pleaded for mercy, but the man showed no compassion—he slaps her then yanked her hair,
I pressed myself against the edge of the wooden closet door, peeking through the narrow gap, horrified.
I saw my father, barely moving, bloodied and struggling to survive. My heart hammered as the man grabbed my mother and dragged her toward the bathroom.
And then—without a shred of remorse—he stabbed her, intending to collect her organ to settle my father's debts.
That moment… rage overtook me.
I grabbed a concrete slab lying nearby and swung it at Fin with all my strength.
Blood splattered as he crumpled, unconscious.
I didn't stop. I struck repeatedly, the sickening crack of his skull echoing.
Blood coated my hands, spilling across the floor, a grim reflection of the fury and despair consumed me….
I opened my eyes slowly…
The vast ceiling of the Dasirov Mansion stretching above me.
The winter morning sun streamed through the tall windows, casting warm golden streaks yet cold air across the room.
Dust motes floated lazily in the light, catching every beam as if suspended in midair
A heavy sigh escaped as I pushed myself up from the soft bed.
The white curtains fluttered slightly in the gentle breeze,
Fucking memories, ey
I run my hand through my long black hair, feeling the strands slip between my fingers
Then I heard a soft knock at the bedroom door.
Oh yeah… I almost forgot—I'm here in Moscow.
"Miss Irana, breakfast is ready," one of the helpers called gently from behind the door after a soft knock.
It had only been a single night, yet Artem had already left a quiet impression. I couldn't make sense of him— what could push a man to such brutality.
I remembered last night
The moment Artem greeted me, Mikael had already ushered me away, leading me down the halls into a guest room
I didn't argue. I simply followed.
I rose from the bed and made my way straight to the bathroom. The mirror caught me the moment I stepped inside, my reflection staring back with quiet familiarity
I brushed my long hair aside, revealing the small mole under my cat-like eye—a detail I'd long grown used to.
Soft sigh slipped past my lips before I turned away, setting aside the thoughts that lingered.
I washed my face, letting the cool water ground me, then stepped into the shower, allowing the steady stream to wash away.
By the time I was done, I had gathered myself—
The moment I stepped out of the guest room, I was met by a vast corridor. The hallway stretched wide and elegant, its glass railings gleaming under the soft light, giving a clear view of the space below
A grand chandelier hung from the high ceiling,
I made my way down the staircase, Below, a handful of helpers moved around restoring the furniture and fixture.
The broken lamp posts were gone, replaced with pristine ones, and even the shattered screen TV had been swapped out for a brand-new unit—as if the chaos from last night had never happened.
When I reached the vast dining table, the air shifted.
Seated along the long marble table were the three brothers, already settled in their places—
Plates of fresh fruit and warm bread laid across the table
"Glad you're finally awake, Irana," Artem greeted, his voice casual, he sat beside the youngest Dasirov.
My gaze shifted to the boy next to him, Hakem Dasirov, the youngest among the brothers.
Then, instinctively, my attention was drawn to the man seated at the far end of the long table.
Khalib Dasirov, the eldest.
Dressed in a sharp black suit, he carried himself with quiet authority, a Rolex resting effortlessly on his wrist.
He ate in silence, unhurried
Then, as if sensing my stare, he lifted his gaze and met mine.
Sharp blue eyes, observe me with a quiet intensity
I offered a small smile before speaking. "Good morning, everyone."
I took my seat, and almost immediately, a helper stepped forward, efficiently arranging my place—setting food onto my plate, placing a spoon in my hand, everything done
"How was your flight?" I flinched slightly when an attendant stepped in, draping a crisp white tablecloth over my lap with quiet precision.
"It was good," I replied to Artem, steadying myself. "A bit tiring—but still good."
"Glad to hear, Irana"
"By the way… how's Berlin?" I blinked, surprised that he was the one to start the conversation.
"Good, perhaps," I smile before I continued "Quite different here in Moscow, though."
"How so?" he replied, raising an eyebrow
"I mean no offense, Artem," I said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips while reaching for a slice of bread.
"Go on, what's the different?" ohhh shit
"Well…" I hesitated for a moment, then spoke softly, "The weather… and the people."
"Is that so?" he murmured, and I cleared my throat in response, unsure how much more to say.
"Irana, right?" a new voice interrupted. It was Hakem, stepping in just in time. I let out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful for the interruption.
He set his utensils down, his gaze lifting to meet mine.
A pair of headphones rested loosely around his neck, giving him a careless, almost boyish look that contrasted with the formality of the room.
"Yeah," I answered.
I reached for the glass of water, but before my fingers could even brush it, a helper was already there pouring. Coffee followed soon after, prepared without a word.
For a moment, I was left speechless.
"What kind of animal would you prefer?" e? the question came out of nowhere.
My hand paused mid-air, the fork hovering just before the sausage. I blinked, glancing at him.
Was he serious?
A small smile tugged at my lips. "A snake."
"Hm." Hakem tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Kinda curious… why?"
I hadn't expected him to keep the conversation going.
I placed the sausage on my plate and took a slow sip of water, then leaned forward, letting my elbows rest lightly on the table.
"They're silent predators," I said softly, I picked up a bread knife; I raised it just enough to point its tip in his direction. "…they can kill you—" I paused, letting the words hang, "—in silence"
Silence settled over the table.
And in that stillness, I could feel the eldest brother's raise his gaze and fixed on me.
A quiet intensity that felt almost invasive, as if he could peel back layers and see through anything carefully hidden.
A calm, calculated focus that lingered longer than it should, Goosebumps rose along my arms
I leaned back into my chair, letting out a small chuckle to break the tension. "Well, I used to have a ball python, back in the day" I added lightly. "But it escaped… and I never saw it again after that."
"Ohm…really." Artem reply, almost teasing.
"I expect you'd say a horse" my eyes slid toward the eldest brother at the far end of the table. He leaned back casually, as if recalling something
"You fancy them back in the day" It was his first time diving into conversation.
and I could feel my chest tighten.
What? Did I say something wrong? Oh, fuck, Z… I really screwed up.
"Yeah, Khalib was right," I shifted my attention to Artem, "I remember how you used to go crazy over Khalib's horse when you visited the farm in Belgorod."
He let out a quiet laugh.
"You must have been around seven at the time," he said, shaking his head with a faint smile. "And you even cried so hard when they wouldn't let you ride Maximo."
This is the most intense breakfast I ever had.
I forced a smile before I reached for a glass of water once more and took a slow sip.
Though honestly… I barely remembered any of it. Hell, I didn't even have the slightest clue—because I'm not Irana, for fuck's sake.
I almost choked on my drink when my eyes locked in Khalib's. Damn,
I had no idea what was running through his mind. All I knew was that his aura carried something dangerous—something I should keep my distance from.
I could feel his authority filling the room, a silent warning that you don't want to cross with
He mimicked my actions, slowly raising his glass of water and taking a deliberate sip but he never broke eye contact with me.