1 Chapter 1
He leaned back and made himself comfortable. Glancing around he gave an impatient check of the time on his Swiss-made Daniel Roth wristwatch. It was late. The wintry wind that funneled down the dark lane made him draw his cashmere overcoat tighter until it fitted snugly around his well-formed torso. Vehicles and by-passers all deaf to him as he stared fixedly at the set of grey-white steps.
A few minutes later, some movement above caused him to avert his eyes from the steps to the pair of double doors, a faint hope still flickered in his heart. He took a deep, sucking breath with his hands clenched violently in a tight fist. The oxygen went straight to his brain, triggering a burst of adrenaline that instantly invoked a full-blown anger. He watched with helpless fury as the tall, handsome man helped his beautiful Nikita into her pullover and escorted her into a white, Citroen taxi, which had drawn up on the sidewalks of the Italian café.
Italian indeed. He knew that his Nikita never liked the taste of Italian food. He watched her long enough to know that his bride-to-be fancied good old English steaks to soggy, wet pastas topped with cold meatballs. 'Huh,' he scoffed. Nikita would never prefer that leggy man to him. What he saw next really brought sparks to rage in his eyes. How dare this pack of bones give a feather-light peck on the cheeks of his Nikita.
He squinted against the wind. Birkoff. That was what he had heard his beloved Nikita call the man. His mask of composure clipped as he flashed Birkoff a brief growl. His thin, blue eyes darkening into a stormy navy with the tumultuous emotions that he had learned in early childhood to keep sternly repressed. He had not been allowed the luxury of tantrum like other normal children and though sometimes he felt like exploding, those emotions were not even a friction close to the wild frustration that he felt now.
He crept along silently after Birkoff, who was now humming a non-melody to a non-song. So Birkoff is in a real, fine mood, huh? So was he. So was he. Stealing a glimpse of Birkoff, he felt a satisfied smile tug the corners of his mouth. Not a soul in sight. He broke into a run and shivered with excitement as he grabbed a nearby brick.
Birkoff heard someone whisper his name. He abruptly came to a halt and slowly turned around. Now that the sun has set, darkness quickly shrouded the city sidewalks in thick, heavy shadows as the streetlight a few meters away had been vandalized. He tried to calm his mounting fears by reminding himself that this part of the city was safe and that his imagination was overactive.
A sudden breeze rustled through the palm trees or was the sound a man's heavy breathing? Fear skated down his spine and his heart slammed against his ribs. Birkoff edged backward, slowly inching away from the unseen menace. He was sure someone or something was there, lurking just out of sight. Before he could make a dash for safety, he felt an unmerciful knock on the head and the world went blessedly dark.
He leaned back and made himself comfortable. Glancing around he gave an impatient check of the time on his Swiss-made Daniel Roth wristwatch. It was late. The wintry wind that funneled down the dark lane made him draw his cashmere overcoat tighter until it fitted snugly around his well-formed torso. Vehicles and by-passers all deaf to him as he stared fixedly at the set of grey-white steps.
A few minutes later, some movement above caused him to avert his eyes from the steps to the pair of double doors, a faint hope still flickered in his heart. He took a deep, sucking breath with his hands clenched violently in a tight fist. The oxygen went straight to his brain, triggering a burst of adrenaline that instantly invoked a full-blown anger. He watched with helpless fury as the tall, handsome man helped his beautiful Nikita into her pullover and escorted her into a white, Citroen taxi, which had drawn up on the sidewalks of the Italian café.
Italian indeed. He knew that his Nikita never liked the taste of Italian food. He watched her long enough to know that his bride-to-be fancied good old English steaks to soggy, wet pastas topped with cold meatballs. 'Huh,' he scoffed. Nikita would never prefer that leggy man to him. What he saw next really brought sparks to rage in his eyes. How dare this pack of bones give a feather-light peck on the cheeks of his Nikita.
He squinted against the wind. Birkoff. That was what he had heard his beloved Nikita call the man. His mask of composure clipped as he flashed Birkoff a brief growl. His thin, blue eyes darkening into a stormy navy with the tumultuous emotions that he had learned in early childhood to keep sternly repressed. He had not been allowed the luxury of tantrum like other normal children and though sometimes he felt like exploding, those emotions were not even a friction close to the wild frustration that he felt now.
He crept along silently after Birkoff, who was now humming a non-melody to a non-song. So Birkoff is in a real, fine mood, huh? So was he. So was he. Stealing a glimpse of Birkoff, he felt a satisfied smile tug the corners of his mouth. Not a soul in sight. He broke into a run and shivered with excitement as he grabbed a nearby brick.
Birkoff heard someone whisper his name. He abruptly came to a halt and slowly turned around. Now that the sun has set, darkness quickly shrouded the city sidewalks in thick, heavy shadows as the streetlight a few meters away had been vandalized. He tried to calm his mounting fears by reminding himself that this part of the city was safe and that his imagination was overactive.
A sudden breeze rustled through the palm trees or was the sound a man's heavy breathing? Fear skated down his spine and his heart slammed against his ribs. Birkoff edged backward, slowly inching away from the unseen menace. He was sure someone or something was there, lurking just out of sight. Before he could make a dash for safety, he felt an unmerciful knock on the head and the world went blessedly dark.