Claremont placed his glass down with an almost surgical precision. Then he raised his eyes to Alexei, cold gaze.
_ You know, Roskarov… there are hyenas disguised as wolves. But a wolf remains a wolf. And a clown… will always be a clown. No matter the price of his costume.
A silence.
A breath.
Then the sharp sound of a switchblade. A mechanical snap like a slap.
_ Enough talk. murmured Alexei's sister.
The weapon sprang from her coat like a viper. She fired.
But the bullet never hit its target.
Because I was already there.
The bullet was in my hand. Motionless. Cold. As if it had been fired hours ago.
The room froze. Even the air hesitated to move.
I raised my eyes to her. My black glove gleamed faintly under the chandeliers.
She stepped back. But it was too late.
_ Bad reflex. I whispered.
She fired again. Two. Three. Five shots.
Then the others. A deluge.
A little orchestra of madness.
But no bullet crossed the room.
They were all there. Suspended in my hand. Inert. Ineffective.
_ The next one who fires a single bullet… I said flatly.
I opened my hand.
And the bullets evaporated into a fine silver dust. As if they had never existed.
_ … will end up like them. I finished.
The silence that followed was almost sacred. Even the walls seemed to hold their breath.
_ But who the hell is this kid?! shouted Alexei, turning pale.
I simply lifted my leg.
And the table flew.
The impact was brutal, precise. The shock threw the Roskarov family against the wall like broken puppets. They remained pressed there, prisoners of an invisible force. Immobilized. Their arrogance vanished with the shards of wood.
Claremont looked at me. Still trembling.
I stared at him.
_ It's your move… boss. I said coldly.
He caught his breath. Slowly. Stood up, a little shaky at first, then walked with regained confidence toward the frozen scene.
_ Yes. Of course… my dear bodyguard. he said, adjusting his buttons.
He approached the Roskarovs. Cast them an icy glance.
_ It's disturbing. Really disturbing. I thought weapons were forbidden during negotiations? So you have no shame?
_ You humiliated us! growled Alexei.
_ No, you humiliated yourselves. replied Claremont without raising his voice.
He looked them over, slowly, from head to toe.
_ You arrived like a parade of peacocks. Dyed hair, contemptuous looks, smell of dirty money. What did you think? That the Claremont Empire had collapsed? That you could come here to play vultures on a corpse still breathing? He took a step forward. I'm breathing, Alexei. And I'm getting richer while you cut each other up for scraps of oil.
The sister, still half stunned, spat on the ground.
_ You only bought some time, Claremont. We'll meet again. This boy won't always be here.
_ Oh, I hope so. Really. Claremont smiled without warmth. Because next time, he won't just catch the bullets.
He snapped his fingers.
Two uniformed guards immediately entered.
_ Out. _ ordered Claremont. _Get them out. They dirtied my glasses and my carpet.
The Roskarovs were dragged to the exit. Their pride trampled. Their threat barely concealed.
_ You'll regret this day, Claremont! shouted Alexei, hair disheveled.
But Claremont didn't even need to answer.
I raised my eyes to him. And he gave me a… different look.
He had just understood something.
Something they hadn't seen.
I was not just a bodyguard.
I was the last warning.
The lounge regained its calm. The echoes of the Roskarov storm had dissipated, leaving a scent of cognac and evaporated powder.
Claremont approached me, hands behind his back, eyes shining with an almost… childish satisfaction.
_ Natsa… my dear Natsa. _
I didn't answer. My eyes still fixed on the scratch marks on the table, silent memory of the past explosion.
_ You know, he continued, I'm beginning to believe you were made only to be by my side.
_ Made, huh… I thought.
_ Your calm. Your control. That deadly elegance… It looks like an extension of myself. As if… He raised a dramatic finger. …fate itself had understood that my intelligence deserved an armed arm to match.
He smiled.
One of those bourgeois smiles who think the world bends to their punchlines.
_ The strength of Natsa. The brain of Claremont. You know what that means? We could dominate business. The world. The high sphere, international markets, secret negotiations, mergers and acquisitions… Armed capitalism. You and me.
I was about to choke inwardly.
This guy had just turned an assassination attempt into a marketing pitch. He had the poetry of a PowerPoint on cocaine.
_ A man whose brain exceeds the average, I thought, would at least have learned to shut up after nearly dying. But Claremont… Claremont would sell an explosion as a "rebound opportunity."
_ And to think I didn't even imagine you so competent… he added with a fake admiring modesty. I must be an excellent recruiter.
I didn't move.
_ I have something to offer you. He stopped in front of me, solemn. A surprise. I'd like you to become my VIP guard. My shadow. You would travel with me, everywhere. New York, Tokyo, Dubai, Geneva… Every negotiation, every closed room, you would be there.
I stared at him for a moment, impassive.
He smiled.
_ You hesitate, huh? Normal. It's a commitment. So here… He leaned in a little, confidential. Ten million. Annual. Net. Lodged. Fed. Veto right on destinations too… exotic.
A number.
A dream for some.
A boredom disguised in gold for me.
_ I'll think about it. I'll give you my answer tomorrow. I replied calmly.
He nodded, as if it were a formality.
_ Very well. Can I at least accompany you home? It would be an honor, you know. For me. To walk beside power.
I turned my head toward him. Slowly.
_ No. I prefer to be alone. I replied.
A silence. A suspended moment.
He looked at me, a bit surprised. But he understood.
He just raised his hands in surrender.
_ That's good… geniuses are always a bit lonely. He gave me a grotesque wink. Tomorrow, then.
And he left.
I stayed there a moment. Watching the last reflections of light on the fallen crystal shards.
_ Ten million… I whispered.
But not to sell my boredom.
Night had fallen. The street lamps cast a yellow, almost misty light on the wet sidewalks. Natsa walked at a calm pace, his suit jacket thrown nonchalantly over his shoulder, revealing the still impeccable white shirt despite the events. The black flaps of his trousers slid softly with each step, tracing a sharp silhouette in the urban setting.
His thoughts, however, were anything but peaceful.
_ Claremont…_
He thought back to the scene. The stopped bullets. The frozen gazes. The trembling voice of the man who claimed to be at the top.
_ This guy. He offers me ten million like one offers a coffee. But… what kind of business does a man do who attracts people like the Roskarovs?_
His gaze hardened.
_ I accepted to work for a mafioso without even realizing it…_
He took a deep breath, watching the city breathe around him.
And if they're ready to kill him for a "deal," it means this Claremont is not just a simple CEO. No… he's another category. One you don't find on the Internet, nor in newspapers. A shadow. A name whispered among those who weigh. Those who know. Those who… clean.
A red light blinked in front of him. He stopped automatically.
That's when he saw her.
A woman, maybe in her forties, bent over a pile of poorly wrapped objects, grocery bags and an old box in her arms. She was trying to cross the road, but cars passed fast. Too fast.
He stared at her for a moment.
_ How did she get into this kind of situation?_
Without thinking, he stepped toward her.
— Need a hand?
The woman looked up, surprised. Then a sincere smile spread across her tired face.
— Oh… yes, gladly! I wanted to take the bus over there, but…
Natsa relieved her of several bags, helping her cross with ease.
Arriving on the other side, he saw the crowded, poorly lit bus stop.
_ Getting on that thing with all this? Bad idea._
— I think a taxi would be more practical, you know.
— I thought about it, but I can't afford it tonight… she sighed, a little embarrassed.
Natsa, without a word, took out a 100-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to her.
— Problem solved.
The woman froze.
— But… why are you so kind to me?
He shrugged slightly, looking away.
— I don't know. It just happens sometimes.
He resumed his walk, without looking back.
The light had turned green.
But he was still walking in the red of his thoughts.