Behind Him

Chapter 2

"Boss," murmured Erza Slain Velleoti's trusted second in command, "they have arrived." Ezra took a slow drag from his cigarette, the wisps of smoke curling lazily in the air. His subordinates' statement hung in the silence, heavy with expectation, but he remained silent, his face a mask of inscrutability.

The man's gaze fixed upon the aural figures of the women, their bodies adorned in scant attire, as they gracefully moved to the rhythm of the music. On the grand stage, a troupe of captivating women gracefully moves to the rhythm of the music. Their fluid movements, like poetry in motion, captivate the attention of the audience.

Among the distinguished onlookers, one cannot help but notice the presence of Ezra, a figure of great influence and prominence. As the women twirl and spin, their elegance and artistry leave an indelible impression on all who bear witness to this mesmerizing spectacle.

The women, their bodies swaying gracefully before him, harbored no affection for him. Yet, in a curious twist of fate, they seemed to reveal fragments of their very essence to Ezra.

In the world of authority and sway, this individual, aged thirty-five, possesses an abundance that eludes the grasp of many. Only Ezra has the power and influence to bring anyone down. Ezra possesses a discerning sense of justice, refraining from laying a hand on those who have not provoked him.

However, should one dare to transgress against him, Ezra's retribution knows no bounds, leaving no aspect of their being untouched, not even a solitary strand of their hair.

Ezra's gaze flickered momentarily towards his companion, absorbing the words being spoken. With a frigid expression etched upon his face, he directed his icy stare towards the very spot they occupied.

"Did they bring anything with them?" Ezra's right-hand man shuddered as the timbre of his voice reverberated through the air, sending an icy tingle down his spine.

The air carried a bone-chilling coldness, as though it had been plucked from the depths of the earth itself.

"No," the subordinate replied, his voice tinged with a hint of defiance. "They did not, Boss." Ezra received a response from one of his men, who conveyed that all they had brought with them were expressions of sheer terror.

With a derisive scoff, Ezra nonchalantly flicked his cigarette, its smoldering ember gracefully landing amidst the collection of ashes in the ashtray.

With a deliberate motion, he grasped the crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid, the rich aroma of whiskey wafting through the air.

Raising it to his lips, he savored the smooth, smoky flavor as it danced across his tongue. Satisfied, he then gestured to a nearby staff member, silently conveying the task that awaited them on the other end.

The resounding melodies filled the air, their vibrant notes igniting a palpable energy that coursed through the room. Laughter and joy reverberated amidst the pulsating rhythm as each person surrendered themselves to the euphoria of the moment.

Ezra found himself the sole individual amidst the gathering who was not experiencing the same level of enjoyment. He fulfill a vital role within the confines of this esteemed club.

Ezra could feel his patience slowly dissipating, like a wisp of smoke carried away by a gentle breeze. This man possesses a scarcity of patience. The sole flaw exhibited by the people with whom he engages in conversation is that he fails to afford them a fair opportunity. Thanks to their unwavering support, even to this day, their patience remains steadfast.

Ezra harbored a deep aversion to the pungent aroma that permeated this particular establishment, yet he found himself begrudgingly accepting its presence. He had arrived at this place with a purpose; his presence was dictated by the demands of his job. The man's emotions are unmistakable as he expresses his frustration and strong desire to eliminate the amalgamation of scents.