Zephyr's Promise

34

"They are right through there sir." Sidorov's man respectfully bows in front of the double doors. The outline is trimmed with imposing carvings. The images of daggers are supposed to ward uninvited guests off. They pose as a warning to the authority that resides behind these doors.

Tonight Sidorov and his high power friends and associates party past these doors. His penthouse is one of nobility. Getting past security if you aren't on the list is figuratively impossible. Day and night his security stays rooted. Dedicated to their master they don't dare allow anyone onto his property.

Unless you are Atlas Zephyr. Then Sidorov's men bow down to you without thought. Foolishly Sidorov doesn't even know what is yet to come. Standing at his door is the devil ready to collect. It is only befitting that his fall from grace comes on his birthday.

"Open the doors." Immediately the doors are opened

Slowly they open revealing the monster waiting upon them. Before me a grandiose scene is displayed. Naked servants with the barest strip of cloth serve guests champagne on diamond encrusted trays. Men and women both cater to the elite guests. Dazzling masks cover their faces with various prints.

A man with his own mask plays the piano while a man and woman lounge on top of it. Golden flecks of confetti dust the marbled floors. Lustfully the partygoers bask in the debauchery of the scene. The man and woman servants on the piano wrap themselves around each other sensually.

In the middle of it all is Sidorov and his wife. Around them a swarm of bodies throw their appreciation. Racks on racks of green bills fly he and his wife's way. In Vegas everything is a spectacle. Every event must be met with an ostentatious flair. That is why as the men throw bills at Sidorov women adorn his wife with jewels.

Friends who they will soon realize are foes smile in their face. Behind their tempered mask is the truth. Costa is not the only person in Vegas who wants Sidorov gone. Mumblings of insurrection had been happening long before Costa came to me. Without someone to actually take the shot against him there was very little action on that front. Every great cause needs a representative.

Sidorov is a lazy fuck who slithers across Vegas. Recently I have become quite tired of his botched backdoor deals. As unsatisfied as I am, his men and associates were even more so. Paying them off and promising a better future under new leadership was easier than I expected. That has everything to do with how Sidorov is running his operations. Truth is the man's time is up. What he has done or has not is too late to correct.

"Well, well, well." I say stepping across the threshold. The lusty melodious phrase originally being played shifts into a dark tempering tune."I see my invitation must have gotten lost in the mail."

"Atlas.." Ralf stumbles over to me. Not that it takes much effort when the crowd parts like the Red Sea. "Didn't know you were in town...again." Displeased bloodshot eyes confront me.

"Need I remind you of our previous conversation?" A nervous smile splays on his wifes face. Where her husband is drunk and barely tolerable she is stone cold sober and knows. She knows that I won't hesitate to speer him in the fucking ribs without very little reason.

Considerably the energy in the room shifts. Amber anxiousness mills around. Those who know what I am here for take a subtle step back. All those excluding the fucks who plotted on my life.

Not that Ralf seems to notice. In his drunken stupor he steps closer to me. A slight shake of my head tells my men not to move. Idiotically Sidorov must have forgotten that every attendant and employee belongs to me. Cruelly I will remind him.

Upon me his gaze falls crookedly. Underlying that smarmy smirk is a message as clear as the Caribbean Sea. He wants me dead. Laying in a pool of blood. Completely undone by him. His harsh breathing illuminates the craving within him. A fool's errand he has set himself on.