Katsav, being in his office, dialed the number and pressed the phone to his ear. "Mr. Fulchiva, Father said that he would arrange a meeting for you tomorrow."
"Ah, Katsav, thank you for informing me. Tomorrow, you say? That's quite convenient," the mayor replied. His voice was oddly smooth, almost as if he had been expecting this call.
The noise of traffic drifted along the narrow street, mingling with the smell of roasting coffee.
Itsum, Katsav, and three other older men sat at a table by the window, lazily exchanging words that dissolved into the city hubbub.
Outside, the noise suddenly fell silentnot completely, but as if someone had turned off half the sounds.
A black, tinted SUV pulled up smoothly to the sidewalk, its engine purring low and confidently. The men exchanged glances.
The door clicked.
And in the pause between the street noise and the silence of the coffee shop, a sound cut througha thin, metallic jingle, trembling, brief, but recognizable.
The sound of chains grew closerjingle… jingle…the rhythm by which the whole city had long known the Sultan.
And before the mayor's silhouette appeared in the doorway, the men in the cafe already knew:
he had arrived.
As the door of the coffee shop opened and the chime rang, Katsav looked up from the conversation, his eyes finding the tall figure of the mayor now framed in the doorway. The cafe's patrons turned their heads in his direction, and a hush fell over the room.
Itsum's eyes, sharp and observant, tracked the mayor's every move. He leaned back leisurely in his chair, studying the man with an air of subtle scrutiny.
Cumho does not let the mayor's bodyguard into the coffee. The mayor nodded to his bodyguard, who looks more like a chubby friend than a man who is supposed to protect the mayor of the city.
Before sitting down. Sultan tucks a small chain into his chest pocket.
"First of all, I would like to thank you. You did not refuse and accepted my offer-" The Sultan did not finish his sentence as Itsum interrupted him.
"I haven't accepted your offer yet," he said sharply.
Katsav tried to intervene, but after thinking about it, he did not interfere in the conversation.
The Sultan's gaze flicked to Katsav, though he quickly refocused on Itsum. There was a hint of annoyance in the Sultan's eyes, but he maintained his composure.
"I apologize for my premature assumption," he said smoothly, his voice betraying nothing. "Your presence here suggested otherwise."
Itsum leaned forward, eyeing the Sultan carefully, his gaze unwavering. "Let me set something straight. We are here to listen, not to make promises."
Sultan sat down at the table. His brows furrowed. He was clearly waiting for Itsum to say something else, to wait.
"You have nothing. You became mayor just like a bag of problems on my head. And not only for me, but for the Duma as a whole." Itsum said, looking out the window, showing his indifference to the mayor.
Sultan's jaw tightened slightly, his fingers tapping once against the table—controlled irritation. "You speak as if I sought this position to inconvenience you. But let's be frank..." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
"You don't want a mayor who disrupts your operations. Yet, here I am—willing to discuss how we can coexist." His smile didn't reach his cold eyes.
The silence stretched. Katsav shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting between his father and the mayor.
Then
Itsum let out a low, dark chuckle. "Coexist?" He finally turned his head back to Sultan, tilting it slightly. "Or... you're here to find out just how much rope I'll let you have before it becomes a noose."
Sultan's chain jingled faintly as he exhaled through his nose.
"Now that," he murmured, "sounds like a threat."
The tension between them was palpable. Itsum met Sultan's gaze unflinchingly, his lips curling into a subtle smirk.
"Threat? No, no, no..." He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed.
"Merely an observation based on the... rumors I've heard." He spoke with a relaxed tone though he was anything but relaxed.
Sultan's hand twitched—just barely, but enough for Itsum to notice. "Rumors?" he repeated, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Well, speaking of rumors, do you want to know the rumors about you?" Sultan said, adjusting his black glasses.
"That you're acting like a child, this is my city, these are my people, I don't allow this in this city. You're like a moody kid who can buy everything. And you take advantage of unhappy people for the good, I admit that. I have no complaints here. But if something goes wrong, you immediately take up arms, not realizing that this will affect the reputation of the city and its inhabitants."
"Your rating is almost one star. It's not for you to tell me about the reputation," Itsum retorted.
Sultan's grip tightened around his coffee cup just enough for the porcelain to creak under the pressure. The corner of his mouth twitched into something between a sneer and a smirk.
"Oh? Stars?" He tilted his head, voice dripping with false amusement. "You think those matter to me? My reputation isn't built on ratings it's built on results."
He leaned forward slightly, his glasses glinting under the cafe lights.
"But tell me, Itsum... if my methods are so childish..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "...why is it that your people still come running to me when their pockets run dry?"
The air between them crackled. Katsav's fingers twitched against his knee—ready to intervene if this escalated further.
And Itsum?
He simply smirked.
"...Because even children know when to beg for candy."
Silence.
Then
Sultan laughed. A sharp, humorless sound.
He stood abruptly, adjusting his suit jacket.
"We'll see who's begging by the end of this."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode out chains jingling leaving the cafe in thick, suffocating tension.