Riven walked into his mansion, the lights coming on as he entered, illuminating the opulent foyer with a warm glow. He handed his gloves to Jenkins, the elderly butler who'd served his family for years, with a nod.
"Dinner. Blood tea and something rare," Riven said, his voice low and even, devoid of the faintest hint of warmth or enthusiasm.
Jenkins nodded, his eyes knowing. He'd served Riven's grandfather, served his parents. He knew what Riven was. "Right away, sir. The usual table is set. I've added some chilled synth-blood to the tea, and the meat is from tonight's delivery. I've also opened a bottle of '97 Cheval Blanc, if you'd like to...savor something."
Riven moved to the dining hall, his steps echoing off the cold marble floor, the only sound in the vast, empty space. He sat at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on the empty space before him, as if waiting for someone – or something – that wasn't there. The silence was oppressive, heavy with unspoken words and unseen presences.
Jenkins returned with a silver tray, his eyes betraying nothing, not a flicker of emotion, not a hint of the thoughts that might luster behind those old, wise eyes. Blood tea, steaming, with a hint of copper in the aroma, and a plate of raw meat, rare and red, placed precisely before Riven. Next to the plate was a glass of rich, burgundy wine, the Cheval Blanc. The vampire's gaze lingered on the food, his expression unchanged, as if he were inspecting something rather than preparing to eat.
He sipped the tea, the cold, metallic taste a familiar comfort, one he'd grown accustomed to long ago. The meat, he devoured efficiently, no pleasure or distaste crossing his face, just a quiet, dispassionate consumption, as if he were fueling a machine rather than satisfying a hunger. The wine, he savored, letting the complex flavors linger on his palate, a reminder of the power and sophistication that came with his position.
As he finished, Jenkins cleared the table, his movements economical, practiced, the sound of silverware and porcelain the only disturbance in the silence. "Anything else, sir?" he asked, his voice soft, deferential, with a hint of...something. Loyalty? Understanding? It was hard to tell, and Riven didn't bother to look up.
Riven's eyes flicked up, meeting Jenkins' for a moment, a glimpse of something primal flashing in their depths before it was gone, locked away behind an emotionless mask. "No. I'll be in the study. Don't disturb me."
Jenkins bowed, a hint of...something flickering in his eyes, something old and wise and knowing. "Very good, sir." He turned to leave, his steps silent on the marble, and Riven rose, his movements fluid, unnatural, and vanished into the shadows of his mansion, leaving Jenkins to wonder, as he often did, what lay behind those cold, cold eyes.
The study, a room of dark wood and darker secrets, swallowed Riven whole. He sat behind the desk, his fingers steeply together, his gaze lost in the dim recesses of the room. The night outside was dark, the city beyond the mansion walls alive with sounds he didn't care to hear. He had his dealings, his arrangements, his business interests.
The phone on his desk rang, a low, insistent buzz. Riven's gaze snapped to the phone, his expression unchanged. He picked up the receiver, his voice cool and detached. "Speak!."
The voice on the other end was familiar, a man named Victor, one of his top lieutenants. "Sir, we've got a problem. The Ortegas are getting restless. They want a bigger cut."
Riven's eyes narrowed, the only sign of emotion. "Tell them no. We've agreed on the terms. They get what they're given."
Victor hesitated. "Sir, they're threatening to take their business elsewhere. And they've been making noise, talking to some of our...competitors."
Riven's smile was a cold, calculated curve. The Ortegas had been a thorn in his side for months, trying to squeeze more money out of him, playing both sides against each other. They'd started by asking for a bigger cut of the nightclub profits, then moved on to wanting a piece of the import-export business. Riven had given them enough, thinking it was easier to placate them, but they'd taken it as a sign of weakness.
"They think they can play that game?" Riven's voice was silk. "Tell them we're willing to negotiate...with their kneecaps. They've forgotten what happens when you cross Riven."
Victor's voice was cautious. "Sir, they're saying they'll go to the cops, make some noise about...our 'activities'."
Riven laughed, a low, mirthless sound. "The cops? They think the Ortegas are clean? I've got files on every Ortega, every dirty deal they've ever made. They won't be going to anyone."
The phone went silent for a moment. "Understood, sir. I'll handle it."
Riven hung up, his gaze lost in thought. The Ortegas were a problem, but they were a problem he could solve. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the shadows, his mind working the problem, calculating the angles, planning his next move. The night would wear on, and Riven would be ready.
Riven stood up and walked with lazy quiet strides to the garage. He drove out of the villa in a Mercedes Benz S63 AMG.
An hour later, Riven stepped out of his ride, the night air thick with smoke and grease. He walked towards the warehouse, the bouncer's nod barely perceptible as he opened the door.
Inside, the music pounded, the crowd a sweaty, desperate mass. Riven's eyes scanned the room, his gaze cold and calculating. People parted, their eyes darting away as he passed.
Gordo approached, a forced grin on his face. "Riven, boss. Welcome."
Riven's eyes locked onto the fighting ring. "What's the matchup?"
Gordo swallowed. "New kid versus El Diablo. Kid's got guts, but—"
Riven's gaze didn't waver, his eyes fixed on the fighters. The bell rang, and the fight began. The kid took a beating, but he fought back, fueled by desperation.
As the fight ended, Riven spoke, his voice low and even. "Get the kid cleaned up. I want him brought to my office."
Gordo nodded, sweat beading on his forehead. "Right away, boss."
Riven turned to leave, his movements fluid and deadly. The crowd parted further, their eyes fixed on the floor as he passed. The bouncer opened the door, and Riven vanished into the night, leaving a trail of unease in his wake.