"The files Gilbert told you to work on last time, are they about my underlings?"
When Marvel asked me, we were alone in his bedroom.
I was standing by his back, helping him take off his suit jacket as a sign of retreat. It was Friday night - perhaps, the time Marvel loves the most as he doesn't need to go to Yerevan Group for the rest of the week.
Six days had passed since I "immobilized" him, and his body had gradually made a good recovery thanks to his people's care - including myself; the one who actually drugged him.
"Yes. He's been having a suspicion on some of your subordinates serving another Family, or even the government," I finally responded, folding up his black jacket and hanging it down my forearm.
"Double agents, huh," he concluded. "I heard that's happening a lot nowadays."
"I think they're becoming informants," I suspected.
"Underground transaction," he smiled, confident about his presumption. "The underworld pays bigger money for each piece of information than their organizations could ever give during their espionage career. After all, it's hard to resist temptation, right? But, Asta, do you know what transaction costs you the most in the underworld?"
Marvel turned around to face me, his smiling face becoming visible. I took a view of him; a black vest that looked fitting to his muscular build covering up his broad frame, above his white shirt was still a neatly tied up necktie - also black, just like his iron-flattened trousers and perfectly polished shoes.
He was standing there, in all his grandeur. When he stepped closer to me, I looked up to meet his gaze. His bright grey hair was nicely groomed, as usual, and flickering lights in his ears were diamonds, yet all those luxuries were pale in comparison to the natural beauty of his eyes that locked mine.
His eyes were blue; not that kind of typically common blue, but the blue which had a tinge of grey surrounding it, so that sometimes they would sparkle like the warm ocean in the daylight, and then as cold and tranquil as a shallow pond under the moonlight.
"Loyalty," the man in front of me husked in a whisper, holding my chin with his fingers as I couldn't open my mouth for an answer when he found me, and I realized I had been lost in his eyes.
I flinched when he reached my hand, his fingers crawling into the gaps of mine, trying to slip into the bottom of my sleeve. His force caused his jacket to slide down my forearm to the floor, and it bothered me how it didn't bother him somehow. But, what bothered me more was the possible change in the beat of my heart when his face was coming to my neck.
I tried to gather my strength to fight for my stance over his dominance, but before I could stop him, his hand was halted by the bracelet around my wrist. Disliking that something had blocked his way, he sharply turned at it.
"By the way, this thing around your wrist is miserably tight and dull, so I've been wondering why you're still keeping it."
Surprised by the unusual topic, I needed to pause to my resolve.
At first, I was worried that people around me might be suspicious about my bracelet. But, since I believe it won't cause any serious damage to my undercover, I decided to keep it.
It's been naturally there forever that I hardly pay attention to it, and so do people around me.
I have to be careful from now on.
"It's blending so well with your skin color, making it difficult to notice, except for these two small, greenish-brown marbles," Marvel continued, his gaze turning to my eyes, quietly smirking to find the exact colors. "Important item- No, important person?"
When he pulled apart to see me from a more comfortable angle, I shifted my gaze down, dragging the hazel marbles away from the steel-blue ones that confronted me. I cleared my throat to diminish the heavy atmosphere before I could answer.
"Actually, I bought it for myself years ago, Sir," I grimaced under my fabricated truth.
When I tried to pull my hand back, Marvel refused to grant my wish, and his grip around my wrist had become tighter.
"I see. Who gave it to you?" He reciprocated otherwise, refusing to trust my story.
"No one," I still tried to convince him without sounding too forceful.
"A significant person from long ago might be liking your eyes," he guessed by his judgment. "When was it?"
Just like that, out of the blue, he could always find a way to grab me by the tongue, and my mouth dried.
Marvel always asks easy questions, but I find them so hard to answer.
In the realization of having no choice but to admit he was true, as it was only a matter of time before he would eventually figure out the truth, I gave in.
"Y-you too, the ring around your finger," I tried to defend myself and started with something else I believed relevant. "We simply have something inseparable from us, don't we?"
Marvel comprehended what I was talking about. With that same understanding, he found himself also looking at Yerevan's hereditary ring around the pinky finger of his right hand - the hand which had been trying to invade into my sleeve since earlier.
"This is the sign of your faithfulness," he shortly explained, proud and burdened at the same time. "Yours, and hundreds of people's."
"Even though some of them might be unfaithful to you?" I provoked him using the subject we initially talked about.
"So prone to untruthfulness, right," he shrugged, cringing away from the irony.
My attempt to trigger something in him was a failure, but at least, we had moved our focus to him again, and not me.
"But, as if a shadow that could show nothing but the true form of its being, it stays with me as long as I exist," he added, smiling rather sourly toward the imagery.
But, a shadow wouldn't exist if there was no light around you.
I could only come up with notions in my head but was unable to convert them into words. I had tried to poke at Marvel's sentiments, but to my surprise, nothing worked. I even dared ask something sensitive to see his reaction. Unfortunately, he didn't create any.
"Asta, did you know? There's something called 'cutting off a pinky finger' in the underworld," he resumed the conversation with a whole different topic, making me rush toward the new direction with discomfort. "Why do you think is that?"
Psycho. All of you.
"I think that's related to the betrayal done by the members to the boss, and so the traitor must sacrifice their pinky finger," I gave out my hypothetical thoughts.
"Betrayal?" The man in front of me scoffed and I was nearly offended. "What about different perspectives? As nobody would be happy to be called a traitor."
"The underworld is not as easy as that," I could say I doubt the consideration when it comes to the loyalty affairs in this circle.
"Cutting off a pinky finger for trust is considered a lenient compensation in the underworld," he expressed a complete disagreement.
"The underworld forgets the fact that the finger will never grow back."
"That's why it's perfect."
When Marvel suddenly had the change in his tone, I froze, unable to leave his grinning eyes.
"Because the trust will never return as well."
My saliva thickened in my throat from not being able to say a word in return. The furrow in my brows stiffened, uneasy creases.
In his bedroom, the crackling noise of flame devouring coals in the fireplace immediately replaced the silence. It brightened the place, the ash piling up above the hearth still felt warm. But, it wasn't even half of the amount of the entire night.
Marvel trimmed the distance between us and he placed his hand on my cheek. I always regretted being too close to him because he looked like he was ready to grasp me anytime, and I got anxious every time.
"Where were you this evening?" He asked me another different question, his thumb stroking the tiny spot under my right eye.
With a more relaxed tone in the way he talked, he marked the end of our conversation about underworld affairs and in one movement, he had pulled me to our personal space.
"I stayed in the company to wrap up some paperwork, so I couldn't go home with you on time," I replied. "I've been voluntarily working overtime lately... Don't you want to praise me, Sir?"
I chuckled, trying to melt the dense air. Marvel reacted positively to the witty remark, smiling at me in return, but didn't say anything.
When the silence hung in the air again, it made me think that his bedroom was more spacious than I thought before. It smelled familiar - the smell I knew so well - of old woods, cold tiles, papers, lacquer, high-quality fabrics, and more specifically, his pleasant musky scent.
We were there - always just the two of us - and he was still caressing me, possessing me with his soft touch. His demeanor was calm, his movement was serene. He was gazing into me and I sensed no bad intentions.
I had to lift my head to return his stare and he locked my focal point with such a gentle look. Slate outer rings with cerulean all the way to the grey, those steel-blue eyes were fixed on me in all the unexplained ways.
Our faces weren't far apart. I didn't know why I thought about this, but I knew how easy it would be just to raise my head and kiss him. But, I didn't do it. I wouldn't want to push my internal boundaries.
Fire came as golden curls on the hearth, igniting the night, outshining the stars. The warm light of it made Marvel look so heavenly. He softly pulled my waist and soon when he slanted toward me, his body pressed against mine. We were this close to kissing, but still, we didn't - it was just him keeping me within his clasp.
"You said you were working overtime, but why were you doing it in a hotel?"
In shock by Marvel's question, my speech silenced itself in the sense that my words had stopped flowing because he had brought me in a new direction I never anticipated for a moment. Confusion wasn't adequate to explain what I felt, and it was when I found the possibility of something bad.
Really, really bad.