Chatting as they went, the group crossed the wide sun deck of the yacht Eclipse.
The afternoon sunlight was filtered through patterned bamboo blinds, scattering into long, fragmented patches of light. Amid the murmur of voices, Vela's platform stilettos, Koko's patent leather loafers, and Balalaika's business heels stepped across the hardwood floor, each producing distinctly different echoes.
"Capybara?"
"Mm. Want to pet it? Generally speaking, it's very gentle."
Pointing at the oversized "rat" that had scampered out to block the way, Vela patted Koko, who looked startled—leaning back on one tilted foot, so alarmed she'd practically struck a JoJo pose.
"Really?"
"Really."
Grinning, Vela walked forward and rubbed the capybara's head.
Its fur was coarse and thin, rough to the touch. Round and plump, yet not smooth at all.
After kneading it a few more times, judging it was about to roll over and show its belly, she casually grabbed an orange from a fruit basket and placed it on top of its head.
Having done all that, Vela was in an excellent mood. She clapped her hands and, while Koko tiptoed closer to cautiously poke the capybara's nose and pat its head, Vela found a seat by the window and ordered a mocha.
"Ever thought about keeping a pet?" she asked, elbow on the table, chin propped in her palm.
Scrape. Pulling out a chair, Balalaika sat down and rejected the idea bluntly. "No interest. No mood either."
"Can't even afford to properly feed people. The house is so broke it's pissing blood. And you want pets?" She tapped ash into the ashtray and shot Vela a look. "You think everyone's like you? So rich it burns your hands?"
Vela chuckled and shrugged.
After wiping her hands with a wet napkin, she took the mocha from the waiter, savoring the rich blend of hot chocolate and coffee, and didn't press the topic.
After all, when there were no battles and no commissions, Balalaika would even take on AV editing work.
Vela knew about those embarrassing details.
From one leaf you know it's late autumn.
The financial situation of the Moscow Hotel's Thailand branch was easy to imagine.
Even though the faith in her heart had collapsed along with the fall of the red flag in 1991, Balalaika's remaining soldier's honor still bound her to certain bottom lines.
Compared to most gangs made up of thugs and street scum, her subordinates, in both composition and conduct, resembled a disciplined army.
Their income mainly came from operating in Roanapur and extending influence through Thailand and Southeast Asia—territory management, protection fees, brokerage, commissions.
Profitable, yes. But they had a large group of people to feed.
And don't forget the Moscow headquarters waiting for transfusions from above.
Those truly obscene high-profit businesses—Balalaika restrained her people from touching them, at least directly.
To outsiders, it might seem self-deceptive. Russian mafia affairs—those who know, know.
But perhaps that was precisely why Balalaika had gone abroad.
From the frigid zones of Eastern Europe to the tropics of Southeast Asia. Perhaps there was some self-comfort in not having to see certain things with her own eyes.
"That girl seems quite attached to you."
Retracting her gaze from the silver-haired girl petting the capybara, Balalaika narrowed her eyes, took a puff of her cigar, and turned with a sly smile, lowering her voice. "So the rumors are true? You're Floyd Hekmatyar's illegitimate daughter?"
"Cough, cough!"
Vela froze at that, her coffee-drinking motion halting as she choked, coughing between laughter and exasperation.
"Bullshit. Where'd you hear that? Which bastard made that up?"
Setting down the cup and taking the napkin Nova silently handed her, Vela wiped her mouth irritably.
"Well, they are rumors," Balalaika shrugged. "After you flipped Ronan's nightclub, smashed Chen's casino, and caused chaos in Roanapur that time, plenty of people on my side tried digging into your background. Then all kinds of gossip spread. You know how it is. The more outrageous, the more popular."
As she spoke, she looked at the imposing woman standing firmly behind Vela. "Long time no see, Nova."
"Sofia." Nova replied evenly. Vela's personal bodyguard and captain of her guard unit. She was the one who'd handed over the napkin earlier. A Slavic woman who, standing up, was no less formidable than Balalaika.
She had already changed out of her cool swimwear and into a sharp suit. The look of a top-tier special operative.
Needless to say, her outfit was a specially made ballistic ensemble layered with silicon carbide plates, aramid fibers, and ceramic composite materials—stacked and laminated with cutting-edge black tech.
"Boris." Balalaika's scar-faced adjutant.
"Lehm, Valmet, Wiley..."
She nodded to those she recognized.
"Oh, it's Nova! Long time no see!" That was Koko, attempting to mount the capybara.
After confirming that the capybara's mood was indeed stable, she'd pushed her luck, half-straddling its back. One hand waved an orange excitedly toward Nova, the other gripping the capybara's small round ear.
Valmet stood beside her in concern, eyes sharp as a hawk, staring at the capybara's blunt snout, afraid it might suddenly bite Koko.
"Uh..."
Smack! Vela covered her face and pulled out a DSLR camera.
Koko looked gentle, but she was actually pretty wild.
Click, click.
After snapping several shots of the "Capybara-Riding Girl," she beckoned. "Capi, come here."
The previously zen and vacant-looking capybara immediately stirred, wriggled out from under Koko, toddled over on its stubby legs, flopped down at Vela's feet with a soft plop, and closed its eyes again, pretending to nap.
Koko, still not satisfied, sat beside Vela. "Its name's Capi?"
"Capybara. Taken from the transliteration of its scientific name."
"Why choose it as a mascot?"
"No particular reason. Just went with the flow."
"Went to South America, saw one, thought it was cute, picked one up." As she spoke, Vela rested her foot on the capybara. "As long as it's fed and housed, it's fully qualified as a pet that provides emotional value. What, you want one too?"
Koko stroked her chin, clearly tempted.
Then.
"Ow!"
Vela flicked her forehead lightly and laughed. "What're you thinking? Is now the time for that? Don't keep the client waiting." She glanced at Balalaika, who had been listening to their intimate exchange, thoughtful.
"No, no. Don't try to change the subject, Vela. Cooperation can wait. In our Russian tradition, once we sit at the table, we drink first, then talk business. Right now I'm more curious about you and the Hekmatyars." Balalaika cut in, lips curled upward, face full of gossip and teasing.
"You're a Yankee, right?" she asked.
"By birthplace, yes." Vela raised a brow. Using me as a wedge for conversation, huh.
"That interested in those old sesame-seed stories?"
"Of course. You've practically stripped my background bare. What the hell is there left for me to talk about? If not yours, whose?" Balalaika exhaled smoke calmly. "Of course, if you think there's a risk of leaking secrets, we can drop it."
Ignoring Koko's exaggerated winks, Vela leaned back into the leather chair, fingers idly tracing the tabletop. After a long pause, she said lightly,
"My so-called rise was nothing more than being lucky enough to stand in the path of the era's wind."
A heart-to-heart.
Vela naturally understood Balalaika's intention.
Before deep cooperation, there had to be some degree of mutual candor. It included observing Koko. The process would influence how much support Balalaika would later give her—whether she would spend favors for her, go all in, or merely offer perfunctory assistance.
It was just that, driven by gossip and curiosity, Balalaika had steered the conversation toward Vela and the Hekmatyars' past.