The rays of the morning sun slipped through the curtains, landing directly on Nik's face as he lay sprawled across his bed. He stirred slightly, his brows knitting in annoyance at the warmth disturbing his rest. Last night's irritation with Dmitri still lingered, the memory gnawing at the back of his mind, but exhaustion had eventually dragged him under.
Blinking against the light, his lashes fluttered open, revealing sharp emerald eyes that gleamed faintly in the morning glow.
For a moment, he simply stared at the ceiling, then pushed himself out of bed. His hair was a messy tangle, and he wore nothing but a pair of grey pants, his bare chest catching the soft light of morning. The wolf tattoo inked at the nape of his neck stood out sharply, a silent reminder of his ruthless identity.
He padded across the room and stopped in front of the large mirror above the sink. His emerald eyes stared back at him, colder than glass, yet unsettled. With a heavy sigh, he dragged both palms down his face.
"Ahhh…"
When he pulled his hands away, his face was flushed crimson, betraying him in a way he hated. Why can't I remove that damn image from my head… he thought.
Ever since he stumbled upon the video—the one of him and Ash kissing—it was like the scene had been branded into his memory. No matter how much he tried to bury it, it played again and again, mercilessly. The way Ash's lips trembled against his, the heat of his waist under his palm, the way he held him as if letting go would break something fragile.
"Damn it," Nik muttered, another fierce blush spreading as he raked his fingers roughly through his hair, frustrated at himself. His chest rose and fell rapidly, the normally composed mafia heir shaken by something so simple.
Just then—knock, knock.
"Sir Nik, Sir Nik!" Alexei's voice came muffled from behind the door.
"Shit…" Nik muttered under his breath, glaring at his own reflection in the mirror. His face was still blazing red.
The last thing I want is for anyone to see me like this, he thought.
Panic shot through him. Nik quickly splashed cold water on his face, grabbed a small towel, and draped it over his head so that only his eyes showed.
By the time Alexei stepped into the room, Nik was standing rigidly by the sink, arms folded, his gaze sharp despite the ridiculous towel covering half his face.
Alexei stopped, blinking. "...Sir Nik, are you okay?" He began to step closer.
"Hey," Nik's voice cut, low and commanding. "Stay right there and speak."
"With… with the towel on your head?" Alexei asked carefully, a hint of confusion in his tone.
Nik's eyes narrowed. "Any problem, with my towel?"
Alexei blinked, then shook his head quickly. "...No."
"Then talk," Nik ordered coldly.
Alexei opened his mouth, but his gaze flickered over Nik again and froze. His brows pulled together. "Sir Nik… is it normal for your ears to be that red?"
For a moment, silence. Then Nik let out a long, heavy sigh. He yanked the towel off his head, revealing his crimson face and damp hair.
"...Bastard, Asshole," he muttered under his breath, turning away, droplets of water trickled down his neck as he moved, trying to put an end to the humiliating scene—
Only for his bare feet to slip against the wet floor.
Thud!
Nik landed hard on the tiles, sprawled out in all his mafia.
Alexei's eyes widened, his lips twitching as he tried—and failed—to hold back a laugh. "Sir Nik?"
Nik didn't move. He didn't respond. Not a twitch, not a groan, nothing.
"Shit…" Alexei muttered under his breath.
***************
Dmitri was at the club—but not in his usual VIP room. Instead, he had chosen to sit among the crowd in the local section, blending in with the smoke, laughter, and clinking glasses. He had left the mansion early, restless, his mind consumed with only one thought.
His eyes never left the entrance. He was waiting for that one person-Ash.
Dmitri knew he had the power to make Ash his by force if he wanted to—after all, he was his boss. But that wasn't what he wanted. No. He wanted Ash to choose him, to come to him willingly.
Then, his phone buzzed. For the past few hours, Alexei had been sending him messages all of which he had ignored.
Finally, with a sigh, he opened it.
Alexei: sir, sir Nik has fainted.
"Shit," Dmitri muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
With no choice, he rose from his seat and headed toward the exit. Outside, the cool night air wrapped around him. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply, the smoke curling past his lips as he strode toward his parked bike.
That's when he saw him.
Isn't that the guy Ash was hanging with yesterday? He thought.
His lip curled into a slow smile.
"Hey! You—brown hair!" Dmitri's voice cut through the night air.
Emil froze mid-step, his heart dropping when he realized who it was."S–Sir Dmitri…" he muttered, his voice uneven.
Dmitri motioned with two fingers for him to come closer. Emil obeyed, counting each step until they were standing face-to-face under the dim glow of the streetlight.
Without a word, Dmitri slipped his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen, and held it up. A photo of Ash on display.
"You know this guy?" he asked casually, though his sharp gaze never left Emil.
Emil's eyes dropped to the ground. "…Yeah. That's Ashley."
"I already know that," Dmitri said with a faint smirk, switching off the phone. He leaned in slightly, his smile stretching wider—almost too bright.
"What I want… is for you to bring me to him."
Emil hesitated, his throat tightening.
Dmitri tilted his head, his smile not fading but his tone turning deceptively soft.
"You can do that… right?"
After a tense pause, Emil finally nodded, his voice low.
"..Yeah"
*************
Basilica di San Marco, Venice — 6:45 AM
The soft glow of morning sunlight streamed through the stained glass, casting multicolored patterns across the cold stone floor of the church. The scent of incense lingered in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of aged wood and candle wax. Choir voices rose in gentle unison, singing
"🎼Ave verum corpus, natum de Maria Virgine…🎼"—the hauntingly beautiful hymn wrapping the vast space in reverent solemnity.
At the back of the church, a man in his late fifties sat alone, his posture rigid yet composed. His dark silk hair caught the light, and the black gloves on his hands contrasted sharply with the pale skin beneath. From his unbuttoned shirt, glimpses of a wolf tattoo traced along his well-built chest, a silent testament to his power and presence. One brown eye, scarred by a long mark, rested unwaveringly on the large cross at the altar.
The music carried through the church, the words of the choir—"🎼Hail, true body, born of the Virgin Mary…🎼"—melding with the solemn air. It was a melody that seemed to echo into the very depths of man's mind.
From behind, a quiet voice broke the spell. "Сэр Михаил... [Sir Mikhail…]"
He didn't turn. His gaze remained fixed on the cross, eyes half-lost in the shimmer of light and shadow.
"Подготовка к вашему рейсу завершена. Мы только ждём подтверждения даты вылета [ Your flight arrangement, are complete; we are only awaiting your confirmation of the departure date.]" the man continued cautiously.
A slow wave of Mikhail's hand dismissed him.
The man bowed, the soft scrape of polished shoes against stone briefly echoing before fading as he exited.
The choir continued their hymn, the words now flowing softly through the nave,
"🎼O Iesu dulcis, O Iesu pie, O Iesu Fili Mariae…🎼"
Mikhail remained seated, silent, letting the music wash over him.
(Choir song: "Ave verum corpus")