Page 4

Mikhail

“$500 million. That’s the most I can offer for your business,” I said, watching as Levi Goldberg, the once high and mighty CEO of Goldberg Inc., glared at me. He looked nothing like the blonde-haired, 42-year-old that graced the cover of Forbes and several magazines with a blinding smile. He had bags the size of heavy-duty moving bags beneath his eyes with crow marks to match. Even his eye color looked slightly different.

“My business is far worth more than that, Mikhail, you know this,” He said through gritted teeth, his glare intensifying.

“Yet here we are. Let me make this easier for you,” I replied, supporting my jaw on my clasped hands on the table. “Your business is on the brink of collapse. You do not have enough funds to pay off your investors, nor do you have the funds to revive it. From where I stand, it looks like you’re headed for the biggest lawsuit New York has ever seen in a long time. You're not in the position to negotiate, Levi.”

Anger is a very curious emotion, one I find most interesting among all others. It could be born from love, hate, jealousy, wounded pride, or anything at all. I’ve come to know that all emotions can give rise to anger. In the case of Levi, it was wounded pride.

Two years ago, I had taken a sudden interest in real estate and aimed to expand my clubs into resorts and Airbnbs. Coincidentally, Levi was expanding on his Trust and real estate business, and I contacted him for collaboration, and his reply was a short and heavy “No,” stating he preferred to keep his businesses clean.

It took a long time and a great deal of money, but I am a very patient man.

I infiltrated his clean business with more dirt than he could’ve ever imagined, tearing it apart brick by brick until there was nothing left of it but a looming structure haunting the streets of Manhattan and accumulating lease .

He fought a good fight in the beginning. He hired private investigators and internal auditors to take a look into his affairs, but he was no match for what I planned for him. And now we were back where we started. He and I in a meeting, a deal on the table, and this time, I wasn’t the one who needed him. No one would buy a company with so many task issues and violation suits. I was pretty much his only hope.

He glared at me for a while before his eyes lowered, anger giving way to desperation. “Please.”

“It’s the best I can do for you, Levi. You’ll see my secretary on your way out. She’ll hand you the documents. Once you sign, the money will be made available to you immediately.” I said, dismissing him with a smile.

He will be an example to anyone who feels confident enough to talk shit about me or my business.

“Was that Levi Goldberg leaving your secretary’s desk looking like a child who was denied dessert,” Enzo asked, walking into my office like he owned the place.

“And where was this secretary when you whisked your unwelcome self into my office?”

“Right behind her desk, making googly eyes at me.” He smirked, making himself comfortable in the chair Levi occupied.

Enzo was the only person who crossed my boundaries with no care in the world. He was also the only person I would attribute the word “friend” to. We got into a fight on our first day in college, and we’ve been closer than brothers ever since.

He had no issues telling me off, the same way he found none of my requests odd or questioned any of my demands. As a Don with no consigliere, I never took his loyalty for granted despite how brass he was.

“I saw his business on the news,” He said, giving me a pointed look. “Remind me not to mess with you.”

“Would that change anything?”

“No.”

“Then get to it.”

He heaved a sigh, shaking his head in what I hoped, for his safety, was not disappointment.

“We’ve cleared the container at the Porte of Triste. It remained untouched and sealed as you requested, and it should be in Russia in a month.” He said, handing me a file containing extensive details of the shipment and a picture of its current state as it left the port.

Enzo had majored in software and cybersecurity in college while I took up business. In the course of our friendship, he had come to be the head of my security team, and it was safe to say I trusted him with my life.

“This is the last security check it’ll be going through before it arrives at the port?” I queried, going over the file.

“Yes. I’ve also alerted the team in Russia to keep an eye out for it to prevent it from getting into the wrong hands.”

“Good,” I muttered, not taking my eyes off the files.

There was no such thing as wrong hands once the cargo got to Russia. The port was a family business, and no one would touch a thing unless I gave the order, not even the government officials.

“That settles it then,” He said, getting on his feet.“Will you be showing up on Friday?”

“What is happening on Friday?”

He gave me a ridiculous look before answering, “A fundraiser in your name, where some of your accumulated artworks would be auctioned off for charity. You signed the agreement months ago.”

The mention of the word “art” brought my thoughts to a screeching halt, and only one name echoed in my head—Arielle.

It’s been a week since my night with her, and there was no night I hadn’t gone to bed without the image of her writhing on my sheets, replaying in my head. That was the longest a woman had stayed in my head. I tend to forget these experiences once they are over, and if I needed a repeat for any reason, I made sure not to involve the same girl.

Simply put, I didn’t fuck the same girl twice, but here I was, wanting the same girl again.

My time with Arielle was the only time I’ve felt inclined to go for a second round in one night. She had me totally knocked out like a teenage boy after his first time. It was honestly the best sleep I’ve had in a long time—long, rejuvenating, and peaceful. I found myself oddly anticipating one last round before she left at dawn. Imagine my shock when I woke up to a pillow clutched in my arms and an empty house. She vanished like she was never there, taking every bit of her and leaving me with memories.

It was the most unexpected turn of events. I was used to women finding every excuse in the book to stick around, but Arielle was different. She left. She didn’t try to stay, didn’t even wait for me to wake up, for breakfast, or for any form of compensation for her time. And while I was very confident in my sexual prowess, I found myself wondering if she didn’t have a great time. One night with this woman, and I am left with so many questions and an insatiable hunger for more.

I even tried searching for her. I asked my doorman and the bouncers at the club, but she was like a ghost only I had seen, and that infuriated me the most. And now, the door of opportunity finally opened right in front of me.

“Get me my secretary on your way out,” I called to Enzo who raised his middle finger to me on his way out.

My door opened shortly after Enzo left, and Cynthia, my secretary, walked in, arms clasped behind her. “You sent for me, Sir,” she said, standing in front of me like a statue.

“Yes, Cynthia. Call the charity in charge of the art exhibit, ask them to contact an artist, Xavier. Buy out his collection, old and new for the fundraiser and get him to make a public statement about it before Friday.” I said, scrolling through the artist’s page. He was surprisingly good.

“Yes, Sir,” She answered and left the office.

I couldn’t remember the last time I put effort into a woman. I have always considered them a tasking investment with very low returns and only indulged when necessary.

Arielle had sparked a curiosity in me, and I intend to see it to the end.

***

Friday rolled by in no time, and I found myself bathed in the reflections bouncing off New York’s glass house. The structure was effortlessly one of the few modern structures I appreciated in the city. I especially loved how the floors and ceilings vanished at night, becoming replaced by the reflections of the world around them. The perfect mirror, giving back to the world whatever it threw at it while revealing nothing of what was inside.

The auction was already in full swing when I walked in with Xavier giving a brief history on the piece that was currently up for bidding.

“Ivanov!” a burly-looking man sporting a low bun made his way towards me as soon as I stepped into the bidding area.

“I saw the news. Congratulations on your latest acquisition.” He beamed, holding out his arm for a shake.

“Thank you, Carter,” I replied dryly, not attempting to take his hand.

This was my worst part of societal events, the socializing. Why couldn’t people attend an event and mind their business the whole time? Carter eventually got the message and was out of my sight soon enough. Our little exchange did a marvelous job keeping more people away from me.

“I’ve never seen a sponsor look so uninterested in his own event.” Enzo’s voice reached my ears before he materialized before me, a glass of whiskey in hand.

“If I hear Mr. Ivanov one more time, I’ll set this building and everything in it on fire.” I hissed.

“You shouldn’t have come then. You’ve done a great job ignoring these events.”

My reply died in my throat when a lock of blonde hair and a very familiar laughter caught my attention. I followed the sound to find her eagerly shaking hands with Xavier and posing for a picture.

She looked even more beautiful than she did two weeks ago, with her hair neatly pinned to the side, enhancing her facial features.

“New mark for tonight?” Enzo chuckled, following my gaze.

“Something like that,” I replied, making my way towards her.

“Isn’t it breathtaking?” She asked as my footsteps slowed to a stop behind her. She was currently standing in front of a giant canvas, holding a champagne flute and staring at the piece like it held the key to eternal life.

“The artist called it the blank canvas because it is perceived differently by all who come across it. Our interpretation of it is flawed by the realities of our lives, but I like to call it the mirror. Whatever you make of it is a reflection of your life.”

I looked at the swirl of color before me, appreciating the strokes and swirls of the brush. It was also the first piece to capture my attention when I walked into the room. It took no particular shape, but it did have a harmony to it. It could be beautiful if you were happy at the same time. I could also see the swirls forming a string of daunting, depressing loops.

“I think it portrays the artist’s struggles to balance the different emotions in life. You only see that which resonates with you, but it doesn’t mean the others are absent.” I could see her shoulders stiffen beneath the silky drapes of her black dress before she turned to face me.

“Mikhail? Didn’t expect to see you here.” She said, a look of surprise briefly crossing her eyes before being replaced by something I couldn’t place.

“That makes the two of us,” I replied, taking my position beside her.

I watched as she took a sip from her glass, my eyes following her lips wrapped around the rim of the glass to the soft bop of her neck as she swallowed. She was absolutely mesmerizing.

“You think this is more about the artist than it is about the viewer?” She questioned, returning her attention to the piece.

“There’s a bit of an artist in every work of his. You can’t have the art without the artist,” I replied, observing how she did nothing to give out the fact that just a few nights ago, we had our tongues deep down each other’s throats.

No blushing or stuttering, she stood perfectly poised, appreciating the work before her.

“So, you’re saying when we purchase art, we purchase a piece of the artist?”

“I’m saying art is a form of expression, and what you pay attention to is what resonates. It’s like those quotes you find on the internet. Some of them feel like they were tailor-made for you, and you might find yourself saving them, but they weren’t. The writer was merely expressing what they were feeling at the time, but you found it years later, and it resonated with you, so you saved it. It’s the same with art.” I replied, holding her gaze.

“Mr. Ivanov, I’m glad you could make it. They’re some people who would love to thank you for your generosity,” Nora, the event host, appeared out of thin air, wearing a ridiculously wide smile. “Not interested, Nora,” I replied, my eyes not leaving Arielle, whose eyes bounced between Nora and me like she was trying to fit the last piece of a jigsaw.

“This is your event?” She finally asked with furrowed brows as the clink of Nora’s heels receded.

“Is there a problem?”

“Oh, not at all,” she replied, swirling the drink in her glass. “I do have a question, though.” She seemed to have a lot of those tonight. She was a lot different from the woman I met in the club. In place of the playful and teasing siren I met at the club was a poised woman who seemed to be in control of all around her.

It felt like we were involved in a dance of some sort. I pushed, and she pulled back. I wanted to peel back every layer she had until she was completely bare before me, not just her body but her mind, too. I wanted to pick her apart till I found what made her stand out among every other woman in the fundraiser.

“Go on.”

“Why children? There’s a lot of charities to support, so why pick children,” She asked, peering at me intently.

Her question took me off guard. It was a question I never saw coming. No one asked the reason behind these events. Some of them barely knew what the fundraiser was for. All they saw was an opportunity to showcase the extent of their wealth, and they seized it.

“Kids are the only innocent members of society, and I don’t think they deserve to suffer because someone decided to bring them into the world without preparing for them.”

It was the only answer I could come up with. Old people already lived their lives and were going to die regardless of what they did. The same can be said for terminally ill folks. But kids, they just got here.

Sometimes, I wondered what would’ve become of my life if my grandfather hadn’t taken me up when my parents abandoned me for a life of pleasure, hopping from country to country while I stayed home patiently waiting for their short annual visits.

Grandfather eventually got tired of their antics and asked them not to return unless they planned to stay. That was the last time I saw them till we received a call about their demise years later. It was a part of my life I hated confronting, staying in a monstrous house with housekeepers, no parents, or siblings. I sometimes, in those moments, found myself wishing I had never been born. I guess it’s where my empathy for kids came from. They were the only charity I cared enough to donate to.

“That’s touching,” She said, holding my gaze. “I’m sure they’re grateful.”

“I don’t need them to be,” I replied, hating the uncomfortable knot forming in my stomach. It’s been over twenty years, and still, a narrow brush with the subject had a mood-altering effect on me. I cleared my throat, steering the conversation in a different direction. “So, does this make up for the exhibition you missed?”

“Not quite.” she chuckled, her gaze sweeping through the audience. “An exhibition would’ve had art enthusiasts critically analyzing every piece. You’re the only person here who appears to have the slightest idea about the symbolism of art.”

“It appears I keep coming to your rescue in this situation.” I teased, watching as that flirty smile I had become accustomed to stretched out her lips.

“What can I say? You’re my knight in shining tuxedo.” Her eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescence of the room.

There she was—the woman who had taken up a permanent residence in my head for the past two weeks.