IDRIS

The first big loss to hit Idris happens a week later.

He's requested at a meeting which takes place at an empty bar. He was first to arrive, and now he's been left waiting for the second party to make their appearance.

It isn't until minutes later that they do. In contrast to much of Idris's business partners, this man is much younger. Closer to his age. Yet, the bags under his dark eyes betray that fact. He has tanned skin, with charcoal hair which use of gel is painfully obvious.

Manuel Alvarez steps into the room with an air around him that tells Idris he means business-and not the usual kind composed of contract discussions and fresh new drug batches. He sits at the table, his guard stationed alongside Croff by the door, and proceeds to rip off the bandages Idris set in place.

"I heard you've been in a scuffle with Alvize Tesoro."

This already sounds like some form of accusation. Idris keeps his calm. "I'm handling it."

Manuel chuckles inwardly, as if to mock his response. "You're handling it. And who's handling the workshop?"

Idris tenses up in his seat. The war against Alvize has left him picking up pieces larger than the war itself. At first, it was the venues-targeted at random and reduced in number. Since Idris couldn't sell, he'd lost valuable customers.

Not only that, but the associates who were tasked with selling began meeting their end. And now the last domino chip has fallen straight into the heart of it all. The factory. There aren't many around to manufacture the drugs, because those who still had some sense attached turned tail.

"Supply has been running short, Idris." Manuel continues. "You're running dry. Where's the business in that?"

"I allocated a new batch to your men days ago."

"Not nearly enough considering what's listed in the contract." He sinks back into his seat and prepares for his next point. "Sad to say, but our road ends here."

Now Idris explodes. He stands and slams his hands on the table so loud, it ripples through the air like mockingbirds to a tune. Manuel's guard reacts instantly by pointing his gun at him, which then prompts Croff to pull out his own guns; one at Manuel's guard, and the other at Manuel himself.

Tensions rise. Then they sizzle. Manuel instructs his guard to put his weapon away. Meanwhile, Idris is still swimming in a sea of suspense. "We had a deal."

"A deal with very set obligations." Manuel tells him, now much more serious. "I can't keep entertaining this sorry excuse of a partnership. But if you ever get your shit back together," he stands from his seat. "You know where to find me." And he exits with his guard tailing behind him.

Is this the greatest insult? No, but it comes close. This is the first of any major loss. Idris won't be able to build himself up from this one, not while he still has his hands full with Alvize. But this is only one predicament out of more to come.

And the next one comes in a phone call a couple days later. A measly phone call. No salutes, no regards of any sort. The message is relayed as soon as Idris picks up the phone. They tell him a recap of what Manuel told him. That he's dwindling. That they need a steady supply, and that nothing about his current circumstances is sustainable. Then they ended the call. Just like that.

Another deal gone just like that. How far he's fallen. To be reduced to the likes of mere rubble. They don't even dignify him with a meeting, but does it matter at this point? He took another hit straight to his finances. And the fact that this most certainly won't be the end drives Idris mad. To the point where he accepts his fate.

Idris's battleship is quickly sinking, and there's no one around to lend him aid. He will go down all by himself.

~《¤》~

JOSI

The thing about plans is they may not always work. Some only follow through up until a certain extent, and then you're left with a half-hearted scheme which fell way too short. Not in Josi's case. In Josi's case her expectations have been exceeded. In Josi's case she bit off only what she thought she could chew, but turns out there's a lot more space in place.

A plan that was meant for merely distorting the partnership between Idris and Alvize has turned into something bigger. Better. Now Idris's business partners have been flushed down the drain. They've severed and renounced all contracts with him. No one wants to be associated with a household whose name has been thrown into the gutters-tarnished and depleted of its credibility.

This is the most content Josi has been. Sure, erasing the ones closest to Idris has been nothing short of amusing, but this is where the money really rolls in. Or out, as Idris's tragic business losses currently have it. Let his power be stripped of every degree. Let the very thing that gave him control be the last of his possessions to perish.

Josi stands in front of a mirror with a tube of red lipstick, applying and reapplying for what attempt has been lost to her. Too dry. Poor outline. Not enough perfection. She smears it off with a cloth, then reapplies once again. No such satisfaction this time either. A sinking feeling of irritation begins to settle in, and Josi has to fight just to keep it at bay. If it weren't for the new visitor, she would have hurled the lipstick at the mirror.

Idris steps into the bedroom as downcast as ever. He sees Josi by the dresser with nothing but lingerie and a silk robe which serves more as decoration than as a cover. A normal day would have him fawning over her as she currently is. Not today. He takes a seat by the sofa and simply watches Josi; studying her. Examining her. And Josi returns his stare through the mirror, but asks no questions. The lipstick has resorted to resisting her.

Then suddenly, "I can't help thinking about what Ainse said," says Idris. "About you and Ramsey's arrest."

Josi stops mid-painting. She holds his gaze a second longer, then calmly rolls the lipstick back into its tube and sets it down.

"What if it really was me?" She asks him, and suddenly the wind outside sweeps across the plane. The question hangs in the air a beat too long. Josi heads for where Idris is and climbs on to his lap. "What would you do?"

Josi can see the nuts and bolts fall in and out of place in his head. He locks down on his response and decides the best way to tell Josi is to look her in the eye. "I'd put a gun to your head . . ." He pauses, giving way to tension. "Then end my life for doing that to you."

Not entirely as Josi expected. She returns that same empty stare with a pleased smile, like his answer is the greatest flattery. "You'd do that for me?"

Idris slowly, but surely nods, as if it should already be clear to her. Laughter rings throughout Josi's head. She has reached a point where Idris's downfall is inevitable. Even if she were to be exposed, she would go down still with a sense of triumph. Because Idris Verdonni would be no more after her death. Her victory has been set in stone.

Josi grabs his hand and lays it against her cheek, then leans into it with a sense of familiarity.

The light in Idris's eyes regain their shine, though not by much, but still enough to subside the affliction inside him. His hand fastens around her cheek so delicately. So gingerly-as though she would evaporate if any more strength were used. Then slowly, he brushes his thumb against her lips, feeling with his callus finger the balmy plush of her skin. It brings him temporary peace, and when Josi allows his thumb into her mouth, it's even more so calming.

She gives him way as his finger moves around, and as the saliva begins coating it. Then she takes a bite, because its desired effect has been premeditated. And it works. The ambience in Idris's eyes haven't lost their anguish, but have certainly acquired something new. Something mixed with lust.

It's almost too easy. Idris steadies his thumb in her mouth and instead, scans Josi from her neck to her breasts where he spends most of his time, then moves down to the stab wound in her abdomen — which has now begun fading into another scar. His eyes are back up to her face only after seconds are spent just leering, as if it were his first time seeing her in so little clothing.

With both hands, Josi pulls his thumb away, and with a calming smile, says to him all things sweet. "I'll always be right here. Just where you want me."

"And if you're not?"

"Lock me up and throw the key away. Then I'll be yours forever."

This very idea ignites something rousing in Idris. "Can I really?"

Josi nods, but it's in the smile Idris gives his attention to. So reassuring. So soothing. She brings her lips close enough to have them brush up against his ear, and in a sultry whisper, tells him, "If you want me, you can have me all you want."

Such fulfilling promises. It tells Idris everything he wants to hear. It strikes all the right chords, and when he looks at her, she can tell without fail that he's made her his escape from hell. Even the kiss he gives her is feverish-full of need so consuming, it completely drowns out the struggles that troubled him minutes ago. Josi smiles once again in the middle of the kiss, fully aware that only she steers the reins. That only she has control.

Idris brings her down on the sofa, still unable to pull away from her lips. An insatiable addiction is what it is. While the family-which was built to the top by men of the past and even by himself-continues to crumble, Idris busies himself with the very thing that has brought upon him all this mayhem.

It would be pitiful if the story had it any other way. But this is how karma goes. And so Idris will play his part as the love-stricken fool. Because it's the one cultivated with his own two hands.

During an interval when Idris finally pulls away, Josi clasps his cheeks with so much warmth, it melts through him all over again. "I love you."

The rest of the hazy cloud vanishes from Idris's eyes, and now a glimmer full of life has taken over. Three words is all it takes.

Idris holds her gaze, seeming almost more spirited, because the magic words have been spoken. He kisses her once again, and although he doesn't say it, Josi already knows how he feels. He loves her. Feelings far more authentic than the imitation she had him swallow down. Feelings so consuming he would take his own life for her.

Isn't love sweet?

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