*Xavier Bulgare*

Sequestered in my office at the mouthpiece, I finish the bookkeeping of the cash accounts here at the highland complex. The night was lengthy, another party where Rio's elite flocked to the slum with the aim of amusement. And no, I didn't misspeak; by 'elite' I meant the snobbish rich that emerge daily in my zone to get high on cocaine. My focus on paperwork is interrupted when one of the young runners enters. Glancing at him, my stern expression is sufficing for him to grasp that I'm far from pleased with his intrusion into my damn office.

"Salute, boss."

His gaze drops to the radio he clutches.

"GB sent a message; he's at the lookout. One of the coppers has come for the cash and is attempting to ascend."

In silence, I gesture for the youth to scram. I draw my loaded semi-automatic from the drawer and slip it onto my waist. The truth is, this mess is spiraling out of control ever since we refrained from executing those government dogs and began dealing with them. They're never content with what we provide, always craving more. The only reason they haven't scrapped this sham of an understanding is because having me as an ally is far more advantageous than having me as a foe. I mount my bike and head towards the lookout, which hardly functions as an observatory anymore. It was picturesque, you know. I recall my old man taking me there as a kid. Now, it's the nerve center of our operations, the hub where my lookouts and runners gather to maintain security. I alight from the bike, and the moment Leonel sees me, he steps away from the cluster of runners encircling him. GB brushes his hair back and approaches with a backpack in hand.

"Take it, man. If you want to leave this hill alive, grab the cash and scram," he says, trying to reason with the corrupt officer before him.

"I already said it."

He shouts, as though wishing for me to overhear.

"I won't settle for this pittance. The stakes have changed."

I halt before them, GB reading the forthcoming events in my eyes.

"Boss."

His stare fixed on me, he steps back, tossing the backpack aside.

"Go on."

I face Leonel, withdrawing my weapon from my waistband.

"You were saying something, but from my position, I couldn't catch it."

I aim the gun squarely at his forehead, and he recoils.

"Thinking you're all macho\, son of a b****. But in this hell\, there's only one king\, and he's mad and selfish enough not to give a damn about what you want."

Leonel gulps, his counterfeit bravado melting away like a magic trick.

"I'm just obeying orders, Venom. You know Marcone calls the shots."

"I don't play cards."

His silent gaze meets mine.

"If your boss has something to say, he knows precisely where to find me. Let him come to my hill, sit with me in my office, and depending on his offer, I might reconsider our deal. For now, the price stands as is. I'm paying more than fair for the lousy service he's been providing."

I toss the backpack, and he catches it, stumbling away without looking back.

"Thought you'd send the guy to hell, Venom," GB jests while lighting a cigarette.

"I might."

I do the same, and he watches me.

"I need that fool and Marcone's idiot alive for tomorrow's business. The police can't interfere with our raid on the Russians' place. It's a significant scheme, Gutenberg, and I won't tolerate any slip-ups."

He nods.

"Did we get the intel we needed from the contact in the mansion? The guard shift changes at the gate and the girl's route?"

"Nope. The snitch is all tangled up. Some cousin of the girl's arrived last night, and from what he says, they're inseparable. We might have to take two instead of one as planned."

I eye GB with displeasure, not fond of my plans being derailed by foolish setbacks. The fact he's the sole friend I retain is what's saving the skin of the screw-up he's shielding.

"We'll handle it, boss. The kidnap's as good as done."

I get back on the bike as he and the runners watch me.

"Better be, bruh. You know I don't forgive mistakes. Either we bring that girl to the hill tomorrow, or your cousin's going to have to come up with the cash some other way, remember? Twelve million."

He nods.

"That's what he claimed her worth is. I'll skin him if he flubs it."

Gutemberg Frigari, aged 25, better known as GB, right-hand man to Xavier, and sub-leader of the Chapadao Complex.

"Miss Kaya."

I hear the voice of one of the maids echo through the room; it's six in the morning, and as much as I wish to continue sleeping, I cannot. In this house, there is a schedule I must adhere to. I rise every morning for my horseback riding lesson, at nine o'clock begin piano lessons, and before lunch yet another of the dreary English classes. A lady must be cultured, and all this is never enough despite my fluency in seven other languages. A high society girl must have more than a pretty face and an attractive bank account, my father always says, trying to convince me that what I do every day is anything but a waste of time. What I truly desire is to travel the world, visit the most famous museums and theaters, and to be more than just a pretty face at dinners and society events, to contribute to social causes, and to be more altruistic—it has never been my focus. It’s not as exciting as an afternoon of shopping in the shops of London. In fact, I've never liked mingling too much with people outside my class, something perhaps unusual for girls my age. My father doesn’t see it as folly; he says everyone has their place in a hierarchy. I am the heiress to one of the largest export empires in Russia, and alongside my brother Ryan, I will take over the business. I don't understand why we moved to Brazil; I don’t like this place. Both my father and brother are constantly traveling, leaving me alone and bored in a third-world country I hardly know.

Kaya Chinaider, 18 years old, the youngest daughter of one of the richest entrepreneurs in Russia, spoiled, intelligent, and heiress of a vast empire.

I rise from bed and walk to the bathroom, take a quick shower, and in the closet, I pick out one of the outfits for today's lesson. It's always the same tight and uncomfortable uniform that I despise, only the colors vary between dull and laughably tacky. I descend the stairs with my equipment in hand, and before I reach the room, one of the staff takes it from me.

"Miss."

He bows in a fashion similar to a reverence, I find it all so overdone and silly, though I do like how it makes me feel like royalty. I sigh, making my way to the breakfast table, where Lesly is drinking an oddly colored juice—I believe it's part of one of her radical diets. She’s enviably thin, though not entirely by healthy means. My cousin is one of the most sought-after models in Europe, yet she possesses the lowest self-esteem I've ever encountered. The eating selectivity she has developed has concerned the whole family.

Lesly Chinaider, 20 years old, cousin and best friend of Kaya

"Up so early?"

I kiss her cheek and sit beside her at the table.

"Thought of going for a run."

She speaks, sipping from her glass.

"You don’t seem excited for the lesson. If you dislike it, why continue?"

"Try convincing Mr. Jeremiah Chinaider. He is unyielding, Lesly. I gave up arguing."

I bite into my toast, then leave. The day is just as tedious as I expected. After hours of moving from club to school and back, I return home, utterly drained. I drag myself up the stairs when my cousin walks up to me.

"Thought you wouldn’t be sleeping at home tonight."

She holds a massive bowl of popcorn in her hands.

"God, tell me you're planning a girls' night. I need some good news today."

She smiles.

"I pick the movie; your last choice was dull. You have no taste."

She leaves for the vast home cinema. I race to my bedroom, take a shower, and choose a comfortable set of pajamas. At this hour, the staff has gone to bed, only the housekeeper remains in the mansion, the staff's quarters being on the lower part of the property allows Lesly and me privacy to walk comfortably around the house. I sprawl on the sofa, grabbing the bowl of popcorn. Lesly finds an interesting series. We watch Bridgerton for several hours until I hear a loud noise from the front door. Startled, I sit up quickly, Lesly already asleep, clutching a pillow.

"Hey, Lesly."

I shake her, but she doesn’t stir. I stand, slipping on my sandals, moving silently through the house, which is dark.

"Who's there?"

I ask but receive no reply.

"It’s just in your head, don’t be foolish."

I scold myself for my paranoia. Being the daughter of an excessively cautious and protective father makes you overly careful. I turn to go back to the TV room when suddenly I am seized from behind, my mouth covered and I am lifted off the ground, I scream after biting hard whoever lurks in the shadows.

"Do that again, and I'll pull those pretty little teeth out one by one."

He squeezes my cheek, his voice as raspy as anything I've ever heard. Desperately, I glance at the massive mountain of muscle before me. I think to scream louder, but then it hits me: a large group of armed men has invaded the house.

"Move."

He yanks my arm, forcing me to walk towards the sofa where Lesly is already crying, being tied up by a thug.

"Sit."

He commands.

"They don't understand, boss. They don't speak our language."

Another man approaches the brute who accosted me. He seems to be the leader. He looks at me warily as the man finishes speaking, the fact that their faces are uncovered is chilling—my father always said cowards cover their faces and that a lack of fear is dangerous.

"Where are the security guards?"

The leader inquires, and the younger man before him makes a grim gesture, sliding his thumb across his neck as if cutting it with a knife.

"Put them in the car."

He orders. Lesly and I are gagged and taken to the vehicle. The mansion is as silent as if it were entirely empty, igniting a torturous fear inside me. What will become of us? Where are these men taking us?

Kaya Chinasider

Both Lesly and I are tied up in the backseat of a car, my eyes are blindfolded, and my hands are restrained with plastic zip ties. I can hear my cousin sobbing; she's a sensitive girl, undoubtedly panicking. A loud blast of music plays from outside, the car stops, and a raspy voice leaks through.

"Boss is here."

A guy says with a respectful tone; I hardly make out their words.

"Get the warehouse ready, we're taking the two tramps there."

That voice belongs to the same man who captured me at the mansion. The car moves again, and when it stops, silence engulfs us. I'm yanked from the back seat, and I can hear Lesly's shrieks of desperation as she repetitively utters a prayer in Russian that I barely comprehend.

"Shut up."

One of the men with us slaps her, sending her tumbling to the ground. This seems to infuriate someone, as the loud crash of something breaking follows. One of the thugs collapses at my feet.

"Do that again and I'll rip your head off, nobody is allowed to touch the girls, got it?"

He bellows, and even blindfolded, I sense his presence before me, standing still with his panting breath like that of a wild beast, his woody scent potent, seemingly ingrained on my skin. His hands touch the blindfold, yanking it off abruptly.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, blondie."

He traces his thumb along the side of my face, a huge man, good-looking, with sharp features that would be attractive if not for the situation.

"Let's start with a polite and cordial introduction; we're not a pair of Neanderthals."

I remain silent—a slim, tall young man approaches, touching his arm and redirecting his attention. He doesn't seem strange, but from where do I recognize him?

"You're forgetting she doesn't speak our language, boss. The girl is Russian."

The intimidating brute glares at him, causing the young man to back away, stumbling over his own feet, nearly falling.

"My friend here thinks you don't speak my language. I, on the other hand, am a bit smarter. Every time I say something, your pretty face changes expression."

I narrow my eyes as if I can't understand, and he grins.

"Kill the other girl."

He shouts.

"No!"

I exclaim, and he raises a hand.

"Look who learned to speak our language."

He laughs hauntingly, drawing near to whisper in my ear.

"Let's start over, Kaya."

A shiver runs through my skin, leaving me completely trembling.

"I'm Venom, the king of the hill, and from now on, your master."

"What do you want with us?"

"Look at that beautiful pronunciation, for someone who couldn't speak or understand a single word we've been saying."

He mocks, a guy as tattooed as he is steps closer, whispers something, and his gaze narrows towards me.

"Your father is brave."

He steps back with his hands in his pockets.

"Must be someone influential to rally an army so quickly and come to my turf."

He moves towards the door.

"I hope he doesn't mind losing a few men; my boys will take care of them."

He exits, leaving us alone; warehouse doors close, and darkness engulfs the place. I hurry to Lesly, who embraces me; her mouth is injured, and she sobs uncontrollably.

"Easy."

I plead softly.

"It's going to be alright; Daddy will save us."

I try to reassure her, but at this moment, I don't believe my own words. The man who just walked out exudes an evil kind of danger and getting us away from him surely won't be easy. Alongside Layla, I lay down on a grimy mattress on the floor. The night will be long, and it's doubtlessly only the beginning of the hell awaiting us.