" where there is much light, the shadow is deep "
Johann Wolfgang Van Goethe
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𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄, how much longer do I have to keep this nauseating charade up? I glance at the gleaming Rolex that takes its place on my right wrist, adjusting its position while blinking slowly in sheer disbelief as I swallow down an irritated sound that begs its way out of my throat.
Four hours and counting - how stupendous, I sarcastically anticipate as my eyes involuntarily narrow and work their way around the room, my fingers kept occupied, tapping against the solid wood, high-top table, on which I lean against in tediousness.
If I have to make small talk with any more of these dull packs of souls who have the fortunate luck of being called humans. I swear I'm going to lose my shit and end up leaving this place in a blood bath rather than hugs, kisses and fake smiles.
I've tortured myself enough by attending this congested place alone. I don't need any more reasons to appeal to my savage proclivity.
Low music fills my ears, the uncanny mixture of contrasting scents filling my nose, with the sight of soft lighting surrounding the room accompanied by colours - so much fucking colours, that have me pursing my lips and squinting my eyes just to assess the scenery.
The guests are dressed moderately. Women in extravagant gowns - that would better yet be suited for a ball rather than a fundraiser - drape the arms of nation wide businessmen, models, athletes and medical workers, who wear fitted tuxedos that cost similar pricing to a collection of Louis Vuitton handbags.
Beaming smiles stay glued to their features as they work around the room, shaking hands and letting fake laughter linger through the air as they communicate in arrays of four.
I wish nothing more than to replace those dramatic, blithe looks with misery and anguish.
"Stop staring at everyone like you'd rather murder them than make conversation," Carlos nudges me by the arm sternly, pointing me with a discontented stare that compels me to roll my eyes.
"Oh but I would rather murder them than make conversation," I retort innocently as I gulp down the rest of the whiskey in my hand, immediately replacing it with another. If I was required to deal with this - no violent implications whatsoever - then I needed to do it with liquor in my system.
"Jesus," He frowns, shaking his head, becoming wordless as his gaze meets a certain corner of the room which has him double glancing. I simply ignore him, and keep my gaze fixed forward, scowling and itching against the tux struggling against my broad frame.
Fucking hell.
I undo the button digging into my neck, feeling a rush of air against my skin as I remove three more down. Instantly becoming less confined.
As I make the move to look back up and continue my observation of the space, a gentle commotion in the corner of my eye jolts me out of my contemplation. My eyes instinctively advance towards the cause and when I catch sight of what it is - or rather who, my lips tug up as the feeling of charring ember ignites within me.
The room stands still as my gaze fixes upon a woman positioned eminently distant from me. Her matured figure, bestowed as one of a Greek Goddess. A fucking sculpted masterpiece, with curves that radiate under the fabric of her dress. A dress so alluring, painted in red and decorated silver with gems that emphasize her chocolate brown skin.
Hung behind her back are pieces of lustrous inky black straightened hair, that sways with the movement of her silhouette. I find the urge to reach out and pull on it, to mess around with it and make it a finer masterpiece of chaos. My chaos.
Kyra Hart is a sensational woman, emitting nothing but sex and temptation with her sketched features.
She is like no woman I have ever seen.
Even from this distance, her somber whiskey brown eyes are captivating, assessing the area which we currently find ourselves surrounded in. Her frame is reasonably tall, toned in all the right places, with ass and boobs that I'm itching to grab and stuff my face into. That fucking scarlet dress is teasing me.
I swallow a groan and run my hands through my curls, internally scowling as I continue to watch her.
Like I have been for the past month.
She's situated next to a man with light bronze skin, dark curls similar to mine but more unmaintained, blue-hazel eyes, and a straight nose. He's macilent, but not to a pulp, seemed to have been controlled by the gym as little peaks of muscle stretch against his white tuxedo. He towers over her by at-least two inches, the heel of his loafers most likely having added to the height.
In other words he seems completely, and utterly uninteresting. Someone irritating enough to have me wanting to jump off of a cliff, rather than initiate any conversation with.
But apparently not to Kyra, who listens to him ramble on amidst whatever topic that seems to have been discussed between them. During certain sentences spilled from him, I watch as she eyes him with a glimmer of entertainment, followed by a smile, nod, or even worse? Fucking laughter.
And the sight does nothing but add to my displeasure, and causes my eyes to narrow in confusion.
And who exactly might we have here? A boyfriend? A crush?
I clench my fist around the glass and make the move to look away and continue on with my night, but when a pair of brown orbs meet my pursed features and pause? I don't hesitate to stare back and meet their narrowed gaze.
Upon resting her eyes on me, insensate ratification rattles along her now stiffened movements. She looks taken aback, utterly baffled as she slowly eyes me from top to bottom, with her upturned, sex-dripping eyes, filled with expressions of which differentiate between the feeling of fear, lust, and confusion. As if she remembers me from someplace but can't exactly put her finger on it.
Luckily enough for both of us. I remember.
And in the midst of watching her watch me, I don't intend to forget anytime soon.
Eli, I catch the name that slips from her mouth as she taps the punchable geezer beside her in attempts to get his attention. He immediately stops his unfinished sentence and glances at her with a look of wonder for what she has to say.
And as she opens her mouth, spilling the words out without a breath, I wonder what it is that seems to have her agitated. Or more so concupiscent.
However, when they both glance at me, Eli instantly looking away as he notices my stare in his direction, and Kyra keeping her gaze on my nose ring, then my lips, and the gold chain attached to my body, I know that the conversation has no doubt turned to one of me.
A spine shilling shiver rolls down her rack of her spine as he speaks, the mouthing words of my fabricated life story being relayed in nothing but lies and half-truths. Her eyes spark with dangerous curiosity. The type that could potentially end up leaving a person 6 feet under if they were to pry erroneously in the wrong territory.
The inquisitive glint emits a burning fire of corruption to pass along my skin. A passionate manifestation of destruction that I wish nothing more to than to bring upon her life. Kyra doesn't seem like the type to run from challenges, in fact beneath her innocent, antisocial façade I see a woman who screams for excitement, terror in her life.
The question remains as to why she hides it. Why hide a blessing of difference to blend in with others when you're born to stand out. It's pathetic as much so, a survival instinct to survive in a world of monotonous individuals.
Nonetheless an encouraging smirk of amusement crosses my features.
It seems there is more to her than I had thought.
Momentarily, upon noticing my smirk. Kyra purses her lips, giving my mouth two quick glances before she turns her back on me, redirecting her steps back, towards her friends who usher her over with a plate of appetisers.
"Hey I'm going to- uhm get us some more drinks," Carlos says, licking his moistened lips as he heads towards the direction in which some blonde takes as she excuses herself from a table in the far corner.
Saying nothing, I give Carlos nothing but a quick side-eye, shaking my head as I watch his figure disappear into the sea of bodies who make way for him in looks of annoyance as he interrupts their conversation.
It astonishes me. How both perceptive, yet utterly brainless Carlos can be at times. In the nick of time I'm certain to have believed that he acts more foolish than he actually is amongst the times we are lucky enough not to have been scheming. One of those moments including now, where he's thinking with his dick, or rather his heart than with his common sense.
"Fucking hell," I groan under my breath as I push myself off of the tables and begin going through a few more rounds of conversation with the group headed my way.
What an interminable evening ahead of me.
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Hours later into the night, succeeding with adequately served dinner, dancing, tiresome conversations, and now, followed by a well performed auction. Yet still, the night still continues to stay young, well behind the time which continues to move in short pace, leaving me restless.
Conceding the finality of the auction, a standing round of salvation is reverberated around the room, followed by cheers and whoops which have the McMurray's, who stand front, centre and all, smirking in absurdity in occurrence to their accomplishment.
A high achievement of their fundraising goal.
$1,000,000.
The abhorrent sound of congratulations and envy prolongs for about a minute or two, before the lights of the medium sized stage dim, acknowledging the conclusion of the auction.
It's only a matter of time before a multitude of bodies begin to disperse, taking place to their original space, whether it be the bar, or the dance floor in a matter of seconds. The movement brings a cunning silence, the only sound audible the shifting of feet, to and from places. It's peculiar, stimulating. But I know that it's no more than a matter of time before silence is retreated and chatter has taken its rightful place again.
The McMurray's hop off stage with gleaming smiles, excitement radiating off of their features from yet again, an additional successful event ready to have been relayed to the rest of the world in the earliest hours before dusk tomorrow.
"Kingston," Nicholas avidly shoots out as he approaches with wide, dramatic arms. An action that contrasts between getting ready for an embrace...Or a presentation for a crucial business deal.
Identifying that we're two men of whom own corporate businesses and are trying by all means to keep its status upheld, I'd just about hint that he may be trying his luck for either a way to support his company through my business, or for advice.
I put on the act of an accepting, pearly, white charming smile that I had learned to master and perform from a young age.
Charm is a scheme, easily pursuing your victims into your web. Play by it, my dear father used to say, as he tortured me into shape. It's unfortunate that he wasn't able to watch his own son grow exactly into what he wanted to create.
A manipulator.
"Nicholas," I greet in a tone of pleasure, despite the irritating anger swirling within my stomach.
"Ah, finally, I've gotten the chance to catch up with you. There have been many bodies to get by. My apologies that I couldn't attend to you fast enough," He goes on to explain, his features dampened by a sorrowful look.
"There's nothing to be worried about. Indeed there are a lot more people this year than normal but it is well expected. You're growing, It's only a matter of time before we do not get the chance to converse at all." I waver off his worry, encouraging the shift in conversation that his body posture hesitates to bring up.
"Yes- yes. I just wanted to thank you for attending the event, and yet again spoiling us with your generous donations. It really has been a pleasure having you alongside us. Full support and all," He starts off, clasping his hands together as he looks around the room. "It's not often said enough around my siblings and I, but we possess a great gratitude towards your family and the wonderful sacrifices they have made to help us strive," His mood yet again dampens, his facial features dragging, perhaps in a look of respect and sorrow relating to the topic of my parents.
"I've only done this in the name of my Mother Nicholas," I purse my lips, clenching my jaw slightly at how empty the word mother rolls off my tongue.
My mother and I never had the bestest of relationships near the time of her death However, shockingly our clashing heads never stopped her from loving me. Caring for me despite her own demons in concern of her soulless son. Finding out your own blood cannot wield the same emotions you do, or rather those of which any normal human possesses is no easy feat.
Yet she stood strong and I admire that.
For most women spending thousands on clothes and other useless expensive items might have been their way of coping, but not her. She was a firm believer of rebuilding, giving back to the community of which the Mafia was slowly terrorising.
My father was not happy of course, but because he loved her in his own twisted and obsessed way. He tolerated, and supported her.
And Instead took his anger out for causing such a worrisome way of coping on me
"I get that Kingston, I really do." He speaks of my name as if we've been friends since birth. I don't speak up on the matter though, I focus on the way his tone relays the implication of a message saying that he understands.
But he really doesn't.
Even he knows that by the way he swallows deeply with his eyebrows furrowing in a look of forced empathy.
How pathetic.
My fists ball in my pocket as I narrow my eyes at him. Eyebrows drawn together in a distressful look that I would be pleased to fix with a single snap of his neck.
Yet, as I've continuously forced myself to do tonight, I hold back, instead slyly ending the conversation of which has become of no desire for me to continue.
"Excuse me, it seems that I have matters to attend to," I say, nodding towards the direction in which Carlos watches our conversation closely, must having sensed my discomfort or rather need to act on violence. "We'll continue this conversation later on." I say dryly, dismissing the weirdly swerved conversation as I take my leave with long strides towards my right hand man.
"You looked like you were milliseconds away from killing him on the spot. You alright?" Carlos says as I reach him, eyeing Nicholas, who's moved into conversation with the blonde woman Carlos has been so keen on eyeing the whole night.
"I'm fine. Except for the fact that you refused a most needed kill tonight," I say, pursing my lips. "I'm going out for a smoke, don't look for me unless it's for the reason that we're leaving this horrid place." I sigh, moving away from his figure and towards the hall leading to the outdoor balcony.
As I walk further down, nearing my destination of which stands a few more meters down near the bathrooms, the sound of the music begins to fade, instead the sounds of crickets chirping outside penetrating the area.
A cool breeze brushes the air, wrapping itself around my body as I take a dropped step out of the hall, and into the blanket of darkness awaiting me. No stars are present tonight, just the beauty of black, painting the whole of New York.
For a brief moment, I soak in the damp air surrounding me. Taking in the wet smell of residue from the rain which had wreaked havoc on us not too long ago. The transitioning of winter into spring in New York is the only time that the weather is unpredictable, and as a young boy, the theory behind it had always fascinated. How seasons and time can change, yet how unpredictable everything can still be. Similarly to how I began finding interest in the mafia business over time. I was prying in territory I wasn't yet to be introduced to, and once my father found out I had received a beating, or two.
But it never stopped me. I continued to repeat the same mistake I had been warned not to have, and eventually he stopped caring. Instead he began to take me into meetings, teach me a few tricks of which I still use till this day, and show me the most vile torturings which piqued my psychotic interest. It was around those times my father and I had found a place in the middle to meet as they say, but that still didn't mean that he loved me any more than he loathed me.
For what reason? I'll never know.
But I've always found a excuse to believe that maybe it wasn't something I did, but something Internal. In nature. Mental. Could he have perhaps have had been like me? Or was he just a heartless man who refused to accept anyone else other than his wife.
I brush off the thought as I take out my zippo. Holding a cigarette between my fingers as I light it up, inhaling the cancer stick and moving it from my mouth once the lighting process has been completed. Clouds of deathly air exit my lips, dissolving into the area in no longer than a few seconds, as I bring it back towards me for another drag.
The sound of heels clicking and heading my way doesn't go unnoticed as I continue to look out into the cover of nothingness.
There's a slight pause at the opening between the balcony and the hallway, followed by a sharp intake of breath before the unknown figure decides to take a step down, her body penetrating heat as she takes the space three steps away from me.
Iridescent muguet complemented by the daring essence of waterlilies infiltrates my sense of smell. My eyes move side-long catching the sight of straight luscious, long, inked, charcoal black hair moving in the direction which the wind takes.
Her soft, slim fingers rest on the stone balcony railing, carving each intricate imperfection in a sensual stroke. A few gold rings clothe the base of each finger, glimmering under the dim lighting the balcony provides, yet still bringing powerful attention to its virtue. Claws of red french tip nails accompany each finger, completing the look, altogether creating an alluring masterpiece.
Silence stretches amongst us, none of us willing to initiate a perplexing conversation. The only sound audible is the nervous strokes of her fingers, working back and forth atop of a microscopic pebble.
"You have a grudge against that pebble?" I grumble, breaking the silence as my ears begin to throb in ire at the unpleasant sound the action produces. Kyra pauses, her body freezing at the sound of my voice, as If she can't believe I had even noticed her presence.
Her brown orbs move to my figure, eyeing me up and down before moving back down to the pebble. "Excuse me?" She speaks up, pulling herself out of a frightened daze.
Her voice is strong, soft-spoken yet hard, with that rough edge of maturity that I don't hear so often in women of similarity in her age. It's nostalgic, addicting, like one you'd beg to repeatedly listen to without ever getting bored.
"I think you heard me perfectly fine," I raise a lone eyebrow, my tongue sliding over my teeth, back and forth, under the contentment, trailing through my burning veins as I take in another drag of my smoke and let the white cloud circulate through the air.
At that statement I feel her eyes dart to me, squinting as she purses her lips, either in a way of defeat seeing as she may not have any reply, or simply just to end our short interaction altogether. "No..." She replies in a silent daze.
And just as I think it's the end of the conversation she speaks up, wearily in thought as she eyes the cigarette in my hand. "For a man like you, it's odd finding you out here, smoking a deathly cancer stick instead of being inside, you know with the crowd interchanging business deals," I intake a hint of the skepticism in her tone.
A grin unfolds across my lips as I shift my body so that I'm looking directly at her. Only to find her eyes on me, a glimmer of suspicion and curiosity igniting within her bewitching whiskey brown orbs. "Humour me," The words slip easily from my lips as I take another drag and wait for her to speak on whatever it is that has her glued her into her spot, standing less than half a meter away from me.
And for the right reasons, I'm assuming it's precisely that fucker Eli who decided to run his petty mouth.
I'm not affected by the fact, no. I've barely spent more than ten hours within the same space as Kyra, excluding the ailing amount of time I've spent observing the woman. So whatever opinion she has ready to spit out, would in fact not be the end of the world for me.
Although I have more than enough confidential information about the women in front of me, there is still more to her that would need to be mastered. For instance, her bold attitude.
It's sexy as hell, still a trait that can only take her so far in life within the flimsy rock we find residence in.
She hesitates to speak, but with the right internal encouragement she looks out into the distance of pitch black and speaks up. "Do you know what they say about you?"
Immediately, indifference scours my body, however, I find the smallest interest in what she has to say.
"The others dissipating their night in the commotion of repetitive conversation, dancing and consuming litres of champagne. Or your little boy toy?" The words leave my lips in a tone of mockery, causing; yet again, silence to whisper itself into presence between our bodies, kissing the words ready to be released from our lips into secrecy.
I'm well aware of the rumours proceeding through just to get a reaction out of me. Unlike most people of whom care an unhealthy amount about what others run their mouth about or with, I could give two flying fucks about what people are able to gather up about my life. A) because they never get close enough to the truth, well excluding the underground activity which they still have no proof to have been confirming the said rumor, and B) because I have more important shit to be worrying about rather than low lives who think no better of themselves so instead advance to ruining others simply because they feel that they can.
Like everything else on this ravaging planet. It's desolating.
She speaks through her teeth, releasing a tiresome breath as if she's just had a full on argument with a stubborn teenager who refuses to listen, "Eli, everyone. The media? You're a mendacious man known to have been included in unspeakable activities." She furrows her eyebrows, glancing at me side-long with a look of utter confusion.
I straighten myself up, taking a final drag of my cigarette before dropping it on the ground, and crushing its flame with the heel of my loafers.
"Careful Ms Hart," I tsk as I shake my head.
"I wouldn't go around speaking about things you have no full understanding of. Especially concerning the rumours of my life," I speak slowly, emphasising on the words rumours to progress my point. "After all, they don't progress to rumours like that because they believe that it's true. They do it because they fear me and my improbable wealth. I'm a man born, raised and moulded into a state of stability that they don't have. People like that tend to be jealous that others similar to my status contain things they believe should be in their hands. Power, money and fame."
Her lips purse into a thin line as her breathing exhilarates with every move I begin to make towards her curved physique. "And that jealousy? It turns them into wild animals willing to do anything, just to uplift their debilitated dignity."
"Don't be stupid enough to believe everything you see on the internet, hm? There's a fine line between bravery, stupidity.. And curiosity. Your curiosity is the type that gets people killed if they linger in a path not made for them. And for you, indulging in the activity of worthless gossip will be your downfall." I finish, my breath fanning over her features.
Her eyebrows narrow as she takes me in. Straightening her posture in a way to size up.
Humorously enough, she doesn't quite reach my chin.
"Killed, Mr Serrano? Such repulsive words from a man of stability such as yourself, no?" She challenges, her eyes moving between my own for any hint of a reaction. An emotion.
How unfortunate for her not to have received the information of my unfeeling characteristics. However I don't doubt that research about me won't be done.
"How naive you are, Ms Hart," I speak in a low voice, my thumb reaching her pouty lips to drag the crimson painting her lips, down to her chin as I breath in the close preview of her face. Counting the small moles that cover her features, from the medium sized one under her right eye to the other smaller ones at the tip of her nose, on top of her right eyebrow and sitting right over the line of her lips. All partially covered with makeup.
Fuck me.
Those lustrous brown orbs do nothing but worsen the tightening in my pants.
"I hope the research does you justice. I'm sure you'll find many answers about me." I drop my hand from her skin, placing it into my pocket as I pivot in the direction of the arch. I don't push the conversation anymore.
I have no interest in staying here any longer than I've allowed myself. What I need is something stimulating.
Perhaps inflicting torment on one or two of my many hostages will satisfy me after an abnormal night. I've restricted myself from my nature long enough to survive the evening. I'd say the addicting, awarding activity of cruelty Is highly required to fully alleviate my non-existing soul.
I take a final glance at the women observing me, the tips of my lips tilting upwards in a wolfish grin as I stride towards the end of the balcony to take my leave.
Until we meet again.