Page 24 of Nemesync
I resisted the urge to show him just how well I could handle a gun, to prove my point. Instead, I maintained a facade of indifference. “Just make sure to put a picture of your face on the target, and you’ll see for yourself,” I replied with a sly smile.
I could already sense how long it would take to survive him. But if I had managed to survive my own demons, then he would be an amusing kind of challenge.
“Tomorrow at 8, be at your friend’s coffee shop, where Elijah picked you up.”
“Do I need to bring anything, Nikolai?”
Before Nikolai could answer, Elijah chimed in, “Bring something with sugar. No need for you to collapse in my arms again.”
7
ZANAE
For the first time since Luna’s death, I had a goal to work towards, and it felt empowering. But, at the same time, it felt absurd to trust these men.
Tonight, I had another mission with my father, this time at a restaurant on the outskirts of the city.
He needed me for a meeting with a man I didn’t know yet. A future ally for the Lebanese family, he told me, but no details were added.
He usually gives me a brief overview of the situation, explaining what he expects me to uncover as if I were a soldier getting ready for a battle.
This time he didn’t.
Silently accepting the stares and inappropriate advances of his associates was something I had grown accustomed to. But it was always the same, and I felt powerless to change it.
I loathed these missions.
The thought of dressing up just to be an object in front of those men repulsed me. I had to maintain an image of innocence and sweetness, even though they knew that I was there to study them and that if I decided they were lying, then they were dead.
Sometimes I wondered—what if I were to lash out, to slit their throats open, and watch as they fell dead on the table, their blood staining the white marble crimson? What’s the worst that could possibly happen?
If I wanted to, I could end them all. I had a wealth of information on each of them, enough to make their lives a living hell. But for now, I had to play it smart, keep a low profile. I couldn’t let my father suspect that I was striving for independence, even if it meant betraying him in his eyes.
Not when I still lived under his roof.
I prepared myself and arrived at the rendezvous. The sky was magnificent. There was no sunset; it was late, with only the deep blue sky illuminated by a few stars and the large, shining moon.Luna…
I loved the sky in all its forms and colors. I was fascinated by it. The stars have always been my favorite companions, never leaving me; constantly in my life, whispering kind words to me as long as I gazed upon them.
And tonight, I needed some kindness.
Handing over my car keys to the valet, I made my way into the venue. As expected, I was escorted to my father’s usual table at the back of the restaurant. He greeted me with a fake smile, standing up to kiss my cheek in a display of false affection. “My beautiful daughter, let me introduce you to one of my future associates, Zaidan,” he said, gesturing toward the man sitting in front of him.
Turning to face Zaidan, I observed his tall frame, tattoos adorning his neck, and a noticeable scar stretching from his jaw to the base of his neck.
But something was off about his eyes.
They looked devilish, but not scary kind of devilish, something more vicious, even sinister. I could sense it, the way he glanced at my father and then at me, the subtle twitch of hislips when his name was mentioned. There was something he was hiding, and I didn’t like it one bit.
He rose to greet me and kissed my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Zanae. You’re even more beautiful than your father described.”
“Thank you,” I replied coldly.
“Order yourself a drink,Habibti,” my father chimed in. He was so talented at hiding his true nature.
I hated the fake mask he put on in public. That façade of the good father grated on my nerves. But I saw through it all too well. The sweet nicknames, the false concern— I could still feel the sting of his hand and the bruises if I didn’t give him enough information on our meetings. Or the way he would just throw a glass at me or anything that could cause pain if I was too tired to accompany him to some kind of event.
My father was never my dad. He was brutal, demanding, and aggressive. And I grew up tragically thinking that it was the way everyone lived their childhood, without care. But it wasn’t.
