In the dark portion of the balcony, she found him, standing alone by the baluster. He was probably taking a breather from the loud noise and the maddening crowd.
In his left hand, he held his favorite tobacco, unlit, lazily tucked between his fingers. On his right, nestled a half-filled champagne flute, cold, bubbly, and sweet.
Ironically, for such a powerful and dangerous man, he never dared to light his cigarette, seemingly afraid of the repercussions that might follow.
"What do you want, Hazel?" The imposing man suddenly asked, probably sensing her presence as she stood behind him in the shadows.
The man in his tailored-made suit didn't bother to move from his place. He didn't even turn to look at her.
Somehow, he knew that it was her. It was as if he had eyes even at the back of his head, and ears everywhere.
But that was just how he had always been.
Always in control.
Always one step ahead.
