Ever since Song Heping let the tail go, Zayed waited in his luxurious office for two days.
He originally thought that this man nad Song, the Lord Dong, would succumb under his pressure, obediently accept his harsh 20% commission plan, and take the initiative to call back and beg for rcy.
After all, in Goa, besides him, Zayed, who else had the ability and courage to take on such a large deal involving a large amount of arms and sensitive materials?
However, for two days, his phone remained silent.
This abnormal silence made Zayed gradually restless and uneasy, from his initial confidence.
He paced back and forth like a tiger trapped in a cage, in the office covered with an expensive Persian carpet.
"Damn Boss Dong! Who does he think he is?"
Zayed cursed under his breath, his brows furrowed tightly.
The profit from that business was too tempting, enough to elevate his power to another level, even surpassing his old rival Narendra.
In his heart, he desperately wanted to clinch this deal, but the greed and dominance cultivated over the years in the underworld made him absolutely unwilling to easily give up that ridiculous 20% commission.
In his view, this was his territory, and the rules had to be set by him.
"Could it be... he went to find Narendra?"
His footsteps suddenly stopped.
This thought snaked into his mind like a poison snake.
The Narendra Family is one of the largest smuggling groups in the western White Elephant Country, powerful, and has always been his biggest competitor in Goa.
If that Chinese man took such a lucrative business to Narendra...
Just the thought made Zayed feel a pang of panic and anger.
"Soone!" he shouted towards the door.
A trusted subordinate imdiately pushed the door open and entered, bowing respectfully: "Boss?"
"Go! Imdiately find out! Where exactly has Song Heping been these past two days, and who has he been in contact with? Especially keep a close eye on Narendra's side, see if they have any unusual movents!"
Zayed's voice carried an uncontrollable rage and a hint of barely detectable anxiety.
"Yes, Boss!"
The subordinate took the order and hurried off.
The hours waiting for news felt exceptionally long.
Zayed was restless, unable to concentrate on other affairs, glancing now and then at his silent phone.
He repeatedly pondered Song Heping's intentions but still couldn't comprehend, besides himself and Narendra, where else that Chinese could find a third partner with such capability in Goa?
Could he dare to act alone?
Impossible, that would be no different from suicide.
In the afternoon, his trusted subordinate returned, bringing news that left Zayed even more bewildered.
"Boss, our people checked the airport, docks, and areas where he might have appeared before, but we found no trace of Lord Dong. He seems to... have disappeared. On Narendra's side, we carefully probed, and there's no sign they've recently been in contact with any important new clients, especially Asian faces. Their business runs as usual."
"Disappeared?"
Zayed was stunned; this was completely unexpected.
"A living person, how could he vanish into thin air in Goa? You bunch of useless fools!"
He grabbed a crystal ashtray on the desk, intending to throw it, but ultimately held back, just waving his hand irritably to dismiss his subordinate.
He was left alone in the office again.
A sense of losing control began to quietly spread. That Lord Dong played by his own rules, and this unpredictability made him feel intensely uneasy.
Damn Lord Dong!
Always so cunning!
The business seed about to fall apart, the imnse profits slipping through his fingers, yet he couldn't even pinpoint the problem.
This sense of powerlessness made him extrely angry.
The sunset, through the enormous floor-to-ceiling window, painted the room a restless golden-red.
Zayed downed the expensive whiskey in his glass but found it tasteless.
He needed to vent, to escape this suffocating sense of irritation.
"Prepare the car!" he demanded with a deep, shadowy tone into the intercom, "Going to 'Kali Night'."
He decided not to think about that damned Lord Dong anymore.
He wanted to go out and find so entertainnt, to numb himself with alcohol and beauty, maybe after indulging, he could co up with a better strategy.
He believed, as long as Song Heping was still in Goa and wanted to offload that batch of Persian crude oil, he would eventually co begging to him.
By then, the terms might not be as simple as 20%...
He thought viciously.
I have to add another 5%!
The state of Goa at night shed the noise and heat of the day, donning the luxurious attire of flashing neon lights.
Zayed's favorite "Kali Night" nightclub was crowded with luxury cars at the entrance, and well-dressed n and won coming and going, the air filled with a decadent mix of alcohol, perfu, and desire.
Zayed's car silently glided into "Kali Night's" exclusive VIP lane, where an eager attendant rushed forward to open the car door.
Surrounded by a throng of bodyguards, he walked with a sullen face, eyes straight ahead, through the dazzling lights and deafening music of the dance floor area, heading directly to his private room on the second floor with the best position and view.
The room was already stocked with his favorite strong liquor and fruit platter.
Waving off the manager who wanted to serve, Zayed walked alone to the large one-way glass observation balcony.
From here, he could overlook the entire revelry of the dance floor like a king surveying his domain, while the people downstairs couldn't glimpse into the room at all.
He took a swig of whiskey from the glass, the scorching liquid sliding down his throat but failing to dispel the frustration in his heart.
The twisting bodies on the dance floor, the noisy music, the wafting scent of desire—all seed sowhat uninteresting to him at the mont.
The missing Song Heping was like a thorn, stabbing at his heart.
Just then, the lights at the center of the stage suddenly changed, a beam of spotlight descending, and the music took on a more exotic flavor, the rhythm tantalizing.
A new dancer took the stage.
From the mont of her entrance, she appeared magnetic, instantly attracting the gaze of everyone in the venue, including Zayed on the balcony.
She was unlike the commonly seen voluptuous Indian dancers.
Tall and remarkably proportioned, her skin radiated a healthy wheat-like glow, her features deep and defined, exuding a beauty that blended the mystique of the Middle East with Northern Indian allure. She wore a gold dancer's costu, bolder and more modern than traditional ones, barely concealing the most alluring parts, her exposed flat belly and straight long legs shimring with intricate gloss under the lights.
Her dance was also unique, not entirely seductive, but it combined the graceful gestures of traditional Indian dance with the powerful energy of modern jazz, her waist twisting like a water snake, filled with flexible strength, each movent precisely hitting the beat, and seemingly on the heartstrings of every man present.
Her gaze didn't seek to please blindly, rather it carried a hint of coldness and detachnt, but this elusive attitude, paired with her fiery figure and enchanting dance, ford a lethal allure.
Zayed's hand holding the glass paused in mid-air, all previous restlessness and calculations were instantly thrown aside.
His gaze was as if magnetically attracted, tightly adhering to that golden figure, greedily sweeping over every curve, every tension-filled movent of her body.
He felt a long-lost, intense heat rise from his lower abdon, instantly dispelling the buzz brought by alcohol.
"Damn, she's exquisite..."
He murmured softly, his Adam's apple unconsciously moved.
The desire to conquer, to possess, awoke like a beast in his heart, temporarily overpowering everything else.
As the song ended, the dancer left the stage amid thunderous applause and whistles.
Zayed imdiately turned around and pressed the call button.
Soon, the service attendant arrived.
"Call your boss here."
Zayed didn't waste words, went straight to the point.
"Alright, Mr. Zayed."
The attendant was quick-witted, bowed and left.
A few minutes later.
The nightclub's boss—a middle-aged man with slick hair and a face full of smiles—almost ran in, respectfully asking, "Mr. Zayed, what can I do for you?"
Zayed's gaze contained a lingering heat, he pointed towards the stage direction, his tone indisputable: "The new one just now, the one dancing in gold clothes, what's her na?"
"Oh! You an Dali? She just arrived a few days ago, a mixed blood of Ukraine and India, a bit wild in character, but absolutely..."
The boss imdiately understood, introduced with flattery.
"Dali... good na."
Zayed interrupted him, drawing a thick wad of cash from his pocket, stuffing it into the boss's hands without a glance, "The usual, I'll book a room at the 'Crown Pearl.' Make arrangents to send her over. Tell her, serve well and there will be plenty of benefits for her."
His tone was flat, yet carried a commanding force ford from long-term issuing orders, not to be refused.
In his eyes, this was rely another simple transaction; like anything enticing, just buy it.
In Goa, there wasn't a woman that Zayed couldn't settle with money and influence.
The boss took the money, his smile grew more brilliant, nodded repeatedly: "Understood! Understood! Rest assured, I'll personally arrange it, ensuring Miss Dali gets to the hotel to et you in no ti and in style!"
Zayed nodded with satisfaction, drained the remnants of his drink in one gulp, the last thread of business worries and concerns about Lord Dong seed temporarily burned away by the rising desire.
He adjusted his collar, his face reacquired that arrogant expression of controlling everything, escorted by bodyguards, turned and left the private room.
He was headed to the hotel to savor his chosen "prey" for the night.
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