ORNAMENTS✅

Chapter Thirty Three.

Dasuki State, Nigeria
2022.

Asad beamed a smile at Zizi. She embraced him instantly, and after breaking away from her, they sat down to a cup of chamomile tea.

"So, I'll be leaving the country on important business. By tomorrow, at the earliest, you might not see me for a while, and I'll be busy too. Don’t think I ran away or that I’m too busy to attend to you," he joked.

Zizi smiled back at him. He didn’t understand why or how she loved him so much, but in her pursuit of love, she often acted foolishly. She could rarely stick to a decision when it came to him. Of course, Asad knew about her plan with Nabeel—she had told him about it. Even the scandal, so he had paid the media to stop talking about it.

The game they were playing was quite interesting. Zizi fed Nabeel the information Asad wanted her to, and he told her what to tell him. It was all about misleading him.

Why she had made that plan with Nabeel, Asad couldn’t entirely understand, but he was back to being in control now. Even though the scandal and the threat of divorce had worked on him before, it didn’t anymore. He had the remote now.

"Babe, you know the Shamaki's aren't dead, right?" she blurted. This was news to him. Why couldn’t they just die and let him live in peace?

"I saw the news. They were clearly standing in front of their burning house before they drove away."
Asad took a sip of his tea.

"And Nabeel?" he asked. Nabeel shouldn’t be plotting anything to ruin his business, or he’d regret it. His life depended on this. Who played games with a Mafia prince?

"I haven’t heard from him, though. When I do, I’ll tell you," she replied.

"When you hear from him, tell him I’m still in Dasuki, okay?"
Zizi nodded.

They were all set and ready to leave. Asad and his father were seated in the VVIP part of Sotto Voce Diner. Of course, they had to wait for the prince to take his time before showing up.

That irritated Asad; he didn’t like waiting, but money ruled the world now. A little more waiting, and he was on his way to becoming filthy rich.
Finally, the prince walked in, all high and mighty, with men in black suits and black bifocals trailing behind him. He looked like an Arabian Mafia boss.

"Your Highness," Asad bowed before extending his hand for a handshake. The prince saw it but left his hand hanging in the air. Asad couldn’t quite figure him out; the prince always had that smirk on his face.

"Be seated," the prince said, his voice calm and gentle, exuding a royal aura. He wasn’t wearing anything royal except for the traditional Arab headgear, the Makawiya, and a lapel suit that screamed businessman ready to talk business.

Asad’s father extended a hand, and the prince shook it, perhaps because Asad wasn’t worthy of shaking his hand.

"Let’s get down to business then. You know my rules. I don’t accept loss, but if you think you can make a profit, let’s sign the contract," the prince said, hitting the mark. Asad could tell he didn’t like wasting time, but for some reason, he hated the prince. He felt the prince was too full of himself.

"Of course, we should sign it," Asad’s father’s voice snapped Asad out of his thoughts.

One of the prince’s men brought out a piece of paper from a suitcase, and they all signed it, each keeping a copy.
"I’d like to see how you manage this. You have a month before you should be done. Let your father make the decisions. You don’t seem like someone who makes good judgments," the prince said, his words sharp and rude. Asad didn’t mind though; he knew how to handle rudeness.

"I’d like to believe I have good judgment, which is why I don’t have a good feeling about you all of a sudden," Asad replied, his voice steady.

The prince smirked again. That smirk.
"A good thing I haven’t left yet. We can tear up the contract," the prince said, arching an eyebrow. Asad knew he wouldn’t do that, and they both called it a meeting. The prince walked out with his men trailing behind him like a pack of loyal followers.

The next thing, they were on a flight to Russia. After a long trip, they retired to their hotel rooms to prepare for business.

Nabeel found it amusing that the Yabos still thought they'd be foolish enough after everything that had happened. They groomed them to expect the worst from them, and that's exactly what they did—expect the worst—and it helped them greatly.

On their way to court, he noticed some men lurking around the house. His mind wasn't at ease, but it snapped back together when Yazid and him returned, he felt uneasy. They returned to find all the security taken down, They were men inside the house, with a bomb.

He knew it. The Yabos wouldn’t file a case like that without a plan—they needed to keep them out of the house for a while and try to harm them again. Now, he’s wondering how many people they've actually hurt. Someone needs to stop them.

He offered the guy double the amount the Yabo's paid before they stopped, Nabeel picked up everything important from the house. They packed everyone's clothing, even Sauban's belongings, which filled an entire trailer. And then left behind just the house.

They left only one car in the house—the one that had been giving trouble. They could blow up that house. It didn't matter.

He gave them permission to blow the house. And just like that, no one would know where the Shamaki’s were now living, He promised to keep his family safe.

Three days later, Umaimah found herself sick with fever. She lay on the bed, shivering as coldness seemed to crush her very bones. Two blankets couldn’t keep her warm—if anything, they made her feel colder.

Abba already started gathering his evidences on Alh. Yabo while Nini is still the way she is—Lifeless. She asks  their health and food before going back to her lifeless self.

Nabeel walked to where she sat on the bed as she stared into nothing in particular. The house they moved into isn't as big as the one he blew up but they'll manage. It's not like this one is small, it's large and airy has a garden and a gazebo.

“Nini, I don't like seeing you like this. You're human too.” She only smiled a painful one like she always does.

“On your way out, check up on Umaimah. Make sure she eats something.” She replied, her way of telling him to leave.

*

"Umaimah." She heard a familiar voice from the door. She tried to answer, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate. She kept shivering, making faint sounds.

Nabeel walked in, looking as charming as ever. Did his hair get even curlier? She wondered. Yes, she was sick and checking someone out instead of worrying about herself. She couldn’t help but wonder about his mother’s nationality; she was sure she wasn’t Nigerian. Those eyes and lips... Umaimah couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was the sickness that made her notice him this way.

"Nini asked me to make sure you eat. Quit making her worry; she’s still not back to her old self," he said as he stood by the door.

He walked into the room and moved closer to her, maybe hearing her shivers since she couldn’t answer him.

"Hey," he said softly. His voice was closer now. He touched her neck and removed the blanket, then walked over to the bathroom, returning with a towel and a large bowl of water.

He placed the cold towel on her feverish body to help break the fever.
"I’m doing this for Nini. Don’t get any weird ideas," he shrugged. "Don’t tell anyone you’re sick, or they’ll worry. I’ll take you to the hospital later, okay?"

She nodded, as her vocal cords were on strike. He continued the routine without saying much, and didn’t leave until her fever broke and her body temperature stabilized.