Episode 3

Pov.: Luka

My name is Luka Lebedev; I am a vampire and one of the world's most wanted mobsters due to my illicit dealings. Still, since the police cannot identify me thanks to my face-shifting abilities, I roam in daylight without fear of arrest. I am someone cold, calculating, and ruthless, seeing no need for a woman by my side for life—I much prefer solitude.

At present, I'm on a business trip, traveling from Malgrad to Gravas. Though transporters are quick, the journey lasts about five hours. Upon reaching my destination, I checked into a city hotel called the Atlas, retreated to my room, and lay down to sleep for a couple of hours after the wearisome trip.

One of my men woke me up, indicating it was nearly time for our scheduled meeting. I rose from bed and headed to the bathroom for a shower; twenty minutes later, I emerged with a towel wrapped around my waist. I rifled through my suitcase for an all-black suit and matching shoes.

I descended to the lobby where my men awaited to depart. We all exited the hotel and climbed into tinted-window SUVs, commencing our direct journey to the nightclub where the deal was set to take place. Fifteen minutes later, we arrived, and the guard allowed us immediate entry.

Inside, we observed various scantily clad women dancing for money, but we maneuvered through without much heed, ascending to the VIP section, meeting the individual who was to become a new associate. I was about to finalize a significant deal. The meeting took place, but I wasn't in the mood to linger there; hours were spent negotiating terms until we finally agreed, signed the deal, and I left the place as soon as the ink dried.

Upon exiting the club, I decided I fancied a drink. The nearest spot was the casino, so I made my way there. Entering and spotting the gaming tables, I thought I might indulge in gaming after my drink. I weaved between tables until reaching the bar. Noticing it wasn't crowded, I reverted to my true form and took a seat, but before signaling the bartender, I caught sight of him serving a bottle of whiskey to a woman three stools down from me. I observed her taking small sips for a moment. She was beauty incarnate, with long curly copper-red hair cascading to her waist and eyes of deep, icy, mysterious azure; her perfectly sized lips seemed to beckon for kisses until swollen. She could evoke sighs from anyone gazing at her, enrapturing me like some fragile glass doll, yet her aura warned of caution. Lowering my gaze, I saw she wore a dress that clung to her form, rendering her both sensuous and elegant. Minutes passed before the bartender drew my attention.

"Sir, what can I get you?" he asked, polishing a glass.

"A Scotch on the rocks," I replied, after glancing at his name tag.

"Coming right up," he said, turning his back.

"Leonel," I called, and he looked over. "Do you know who she is?" I asked subtly, indicating the woman who occupied my thoughts.

"No, sir, she just arrived, sat down, and ordered the bottle," he informed me.

"You're telling me she's drinking a whole bottle by herself?" I asked, raising my voice slightly in surprise—it was rare to see a woman drink so much.

"It's her second," a sweet voice interjected. I realized she had overheard; as I turned, she was regarding me with a smile. "Care for some company?" she offered, shaking the bottle in her hand.

"Sir, your Scotch," Leonel said, but I ignored him, absorbed in the fearless smile of the woman.

"What's the matter? If you don't want company, I'll continue alone," she said, turning away to pour herself another glass.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, trying to recapture her attention, but she ignored me. "Hey!" I tried again, yet she only took another sip—a frustrating turn, as no one had ever ignored me and lived to tell the tale. I gulped down my Scotch and moved closer. "Hey!" I shouted in her ear.

"What's your problem, idiot?!" she retorted angrily, clutching her ear. "Are you trying to make me deaf, you buffoon?" Her infuriated tone and glare were palpable.

"It's the first time someone has insulted me twice," I thought and smiled.

"Why are you smiling?" she demanded, her sharp gaze laden with anger.

"I'll accept your invitation," I said. She looked me up and down then averted her eyes. "Leo, another clean glass, please."

"Right away, miss," the bartender replied, snapping back to the unfolding situation.

"So you knew, you didn't have to shout," she said, locking eyes with me.

"I called, but you didn't hear, or you purposely ignored me," I countered.

"Still, you didn’t have to shout; there are other ways," she replied, not breaking eye contact.

"Here you go, sir," Leonel said, swiftly departing.

"Ice or neat?" she asked.

"Neat," I replied, and watched her smile. She filled both our glasses with the amber liquid.

"Here," she said, extending a glass to me.

"Don't you take it with ice?" I inquired, noticing her glass.

"I hate watered-down whiskey," she grimaced. "I prefer it straight," she continued, sipping her drink which I mirrored. "Changing topics, what brings a handsome man like you, alone to a bar, drinking with a stranger?" she asked, refilling our glasses.

"This woman is unlike any other, speaking with a mafia boss casually," I mused.

"I fancied a drink but didn’t expect to encounter a beauty such as yourself," I replied, smiling unconsciously.

"Thanks for the compliment," she said, blessing me with another addictive smile.

"And what's a lady like you doing alone at the bar?" I queried, genuinely curious.

"I just wanted to forget recent events, and this seemed the only way," she said, her expression darkening yet filled with sheer loathing.

"Something bad happen?" Her words piqued my interest.

"Actually," she paused to drink, "I should be used to betrayal and humiliation by now," she said, and the pain in her face told me she was wounded and trusted no one.

We fell silent for a while but kept drinking. She changed the subject, obviously not wanting to delve further, and I wondered why I was even asking—I never did. But now, I wanted to know about her life, to understand her. She inquired about me, and I shared tidbits of my livelihood, obviously only portions of the truth. I knew full well that if she knew the full scope, she'd flee in terror, and I didn't want that to happen this time. Our conversation flowed easily; I felt able to be myself without judgment, perhaps thanks to the whisky, though I doubted it, given my high tolerance. As we talked, I noticed she evaded certain questions. She was intriguing, clearly knowledgeable about life and the world.

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