Black Moth

Just as Solum said, the Sahas landed in Busan an hour later. With fifteen men in the jet and another batch sent ahead of time by Solum, the Sahas should have been well cared for. When the head of Black Moth and his daughter set foot off the jet, they were met by Solum’s men as well as a caravan of SUVs led by Park Jiseung’s oldest, Park Sungwoong. He was standing among his own men and vehicles in a subtle pinstripe suit and aviator glasses to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun.

When Naagpathi approached him, Sungwoong bowed deeply. “Its an honor to have you visit our country, Mr. Saha. Especially on such circumstances.” When Sungwoong rose, his white teeth glinted.

“Thank you for having us,” Naagpathi responded back in equally precise English with a nod of his head.

Sungwoong’s shadowed gaze fell on the woman standing beside Black Moth’s leader. “This must be your daughter.” He bowed to her as well. However, while still in the bow, he took her hand and kissed it lightly. “If I’m not overstepping my boundaries, I must say the rumors don’t lie. You’re unbelievably beautiful.”

Nikita had to hide her pleased look, working hard to restrain the flush that threatened her cheeks. She had been told by plenty of men—many of them being Naagpathi’s own men and customers—that she was attractive, beautiful, exquisite, but they always directed the comment towards her father. “Your daughter is truly beautiful” they would say and eye her as nothing more than marble statue brought in for auction. However, the way this Korean man said it, he was acknowledging her for once. She wondered if his look was that of actual admiration or lustful indulgence as they were so many times before. The way Sungwoong carried himself, she wanted to say the first option suited him best.

“You must be Jiseung’s oldest,” Naagpathi cut in when the silence between his daughter and the new man dragged on.

Sungwoong nodded. “Yes, Park Sungwoong. I’m to escort you to our home.”

The route to the Park mansion was a long one with it being several miles outside of Busan’s city limits. It was a place of solitude and a trek up a mountainous path. Sungwoong and Naagpathi made small talk, like how it was an unbelievably dry summer in South Korea or how the political unrest in Bangladesh was doing wonders for Black Moth’s business. Sungwoong made another surprise move by including Nikita into the conversation, not just as a side to dip into when it was necessary, but a legitimate discussion whose voice deserved to be heard. Nikita continued to be impressed.

As an independent woman, Nikita expected to be treated equally as any man in any crime organization. Her father had raised her to think for herself and be her own person, yet when he was around some of his colleagues, Nikita only became his daughter and was expected to just remain quiet. She hated that and Sungwoong’s inclusion of her added onto her attraction the already handsome Korean.

The SUV came to a stop outside the iron gates that blocked off Park mansion from the rest of the world. Nikita peeked out her window to get a better look. As the gates opened and the vehicle passed through, security guards stood about the fence line. Cameras hung from every corner. A green expanse of manicured lawn swept around the large infrastructure that stood proudly hidden in the mountains’ trees. It was a modern home with a blocky exterior made of greys and blacks, lots of windows, and backed by the mountainside.

When the SUV pulled up to the front doors, a handful of servants rushed out to either open the doors or stand at the ready for some unknown command. Naagpathi stepped out first, followed by his daughter with Sungwoong at the tail. Naagpathi straightened his suit jacket, buttoning it over his growing belly as he looked up at the monstrous house.

“Impressive,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Sungwoong, coming to stand beside the Bengali man. “My mother and father raised my siblings and myself in this house. It was truly ahead of its time.”

“Speaking of your father, I’m excited to meet him,” said Naagpathi with a professional tone that did not mask his sincere emotion.

Sungwoong led the way for the Sahas. Solum and the Black Moth men were right behind them with a following of Seven Star. Nikita admired the flowers and growths along the walkways that led up to the steps and the front door. It added an organic vibe to what otherwise was simply mechanical and superficial. Inside the house, it was just as vast and square as the outside. The entryway echoed their trouncing footsteps, the clicking of Nikita’s sharp heels as its open ceiling went up three stories. There were balconies for people to look down from above, which is exactly what Park Jiseung was doing.

“Naagpathi Saha!” he called, making his way down the stairs. For his age, Nikita noted how limber he was. She doubted her own father could move that lithely and freely down that many stairs and still breath normally once at the bottom. “Its an honor to meet you at last.” When Jiseung smiled, it was obvious where Sungwoong got his own from.

Small talk and more introductions before Jiseung led them to the large dining room towards the back of the house. The table stretched enough to hold fourteen people; light reflected off its surface from a large window that provided a full view of a garden complete with a colorful assortment of flowers and small trees. He led them through the kitchen, complete with stainless steel and marble surfaces and a personal staff hard at work preparing their evening meal. A sitting room that also doubled as a personal library, the walls lined with packed bookshelves. The furniture was cool leather and the Sahas were offered seats upon the chair and couch surfaces. At this point, Jiseung had done well at acknowledging Nikita, but most of the comments were directed to her father.

As Nikita settled beside Naagpathi, a screen on the opposing end of the room blinked to life. Jiseung turned to them, his welcoming demeanor complete with a look of businesslike intensity. Graphs and charts blinked across the screen. Jiseung started into his speech in the support of Seven Star and Black Moth reaching alliances.

“Seven Star has been the leading Kkhangpae in Korea since the nineteen-seventies, started by Wu Bohyun around the nineteen-fifties and since then passed down from either father to son or someone willing to throw a leader. Our largest businesses evolve around localized loan sharking as well as dealing in human, drug, and weapons trafficking. My associates and I have built the trafficking ring over years of hard work and intelligence against the law. We smuggle through a chain of salons in my deceased wife’s name.”

Naagpathi nodded along, his finger tracing along his chin while he listened. “What about the Yakuza?” he asked, interrupting Jiseung’s beginning spiel on expanding more on human trafficking.

“What about them?” Jiseung asked, eyes narrowed.

“They’re currently the most powerful organized crime unit in all of Asia. What do you have against them?”

Jiseung sighed and walked away from the screen. “You have a point, Mr. Saha. As far as man power, we’re only half their size. However, look at them. I mean, really look at them. They are struggling to keep control of everything. While here in Asia, they may remain strong, they won’t for long when we choose to move in. They’re spread out too far and not ready for all they’ve taken. You and I could easily overpower them and take over parts of their business in the next year or so—especially with the way Black Moth has grown.”

That was the answer Naagpathi was waiting to hear; it was obvious by the pleased smile that eased over his aging face. More subjects were spoken on: revenue, increasing sales and turf, where they needed to look to expand without overreaching like the Yakuza was beginning to do. Nikita listened intently, writing down what she deemed important in her notes. Occasionally, she glimpsed over at the man that was in a similar situation as she. Sungwoong was seated to her left, hands clasping gently on the ends of wooden armrests as he looked up at his father with an expression of tranquility. He completely trusted in his father’s decisions, while Nikita sometimes doubted her’s.

Sungwoong turned his head slightly to catch Nikita’s eye and, unlike most women, she did not look away. Instead, she held his gaze with an intensity that made his tie seem a little tighter around his throat. For a moment, he hoped his father would end the discussion of business so he could speak with this obscure and enigmatic woman. He wanted to know what exactly made her gaze, the doorway to her soul, so cold.

Jiseung and Naagpathi finally finished their constant debate and discussion when a servant arrived to announce that dinner was ready. Everyone who was seated rose and the Parks escorted their guests from the sitting room and to the dining room. After everyone was seated again, food began to float in on the hands of servers. Nikita noticed that Sungwoong had made the opportune move to sit across from her, not close enough to be next to her, but obvious enough to show his interest in wanting to speak with her.

The dishes consisted of a mixture of Bangla and Korean foods featuring fish marinated in turmeric and bathed in mustard poppy-seed paste, live baby octopus, curry, rice, kimchi, and fried eggplant. Naagpathi complimented on the thoughtfulness of the meal; it sounded more like new friends meeting for an evening dinner rather than the potential closing of an alliance between two brutal and violent mobs.

Nikita smiled at the thought.

“Enjoying the fish?” Sungwoong asked, after the food had long been dug into.

Nikita nodded as she chewed, dabbing at her lips with the napkin in her lap. “It’s very delicious, tastes just like home.”

“That’s very good to hear,” said Sungwoong. “By the way, I saw you eyeing my father’s book collection earlier. Do you enjoy reading?”

“I do,” said Nikita. “It was my escape as a child.”

“Mine as well. I have my own office, a private corner of the house where I work. It also has my own collection of books. Would you like to see it?”

Sungwoong’s invite was tantalizing, his words softened as if he did not want others to hear. As if they were about to sneak out to a party or do something bad. Nikita liked the sound of that. She tried not to hurry her meal, but for once she cursed herself for being such a slow eater. Since she was young, her parents commented on how she ate like a little bird. It was a habit she never grew out of.

Sungwoong finished several minutes ahead of her, but looked to be in no hurry. Rather he folded his hands on the table and immersed himself in the conversation involving bets on the next World Cup. He seemed to be an avid football fan, or at least pretended to be. Nikita, a woman known for reading through people, could tell Park Sungwoong honestly cared little for who won and who lost, but it was expected of him so he made himself apparent in the subject.

Nikita cleared her throat subtly, expressing that she had not finished all of her food, but was done eating. Sungwoong looked to her before nodding and rising to his feet. “Ms. Saha has expressed that we have a…mutual interest in the art of literacy. We’re going to look at my collection of books. If you need anything, we’ll be in my office.” He did not ask if the situation was alright and Nikita saw the way her father bristled for a moment at the thought of this man just taking his daughter to some unknown part of the large home. However, Jiseung dismissed his son with a wave of his hand and was involving Naagpathi quickly into the discussion again.

Sungwoong led Nikita through the echoing entryway and up a set of stairs to the second story. The hallway was open and resembled more of a sitting area with several doors leading off at different sides of the room. Sungwoong strode to the door at the far left and held it open for Nikita.

“Welcome to my humble, little closet, Ms. Saha.”

The “humble, little closet” did not seem so little to Nikita. The room in itself was not very wide, but it was fairly long and the ceiling seemed lower than what was expected of the house’s architecture. Perhaps, it was supposed to be just a closet and Sungwoong had renovated it for his own purposes. It certainly was cozier than the rest of the house, holding an aged mood rather than the mechanical and pristine world outside the door Sungwoong closed behind them. Bookshelves lined every available space. A desk sat near the door, old and worn with a leather high-backed chair sitting behind it. The lighting fixtures looked to be from the fifties, hung from chains and encased in brass. Rugs, expensive and beautifully patterned, lay on the floor. The faint smell of cigar smoke and strong booze set permanently in the air, even with the small rectangular window near the ceiling slightly ajar.

“I love it,” Nikita said before she could stop herself. Her hazel eyes were round with curiosity and wonder, widening further when she spotted an old record player in one corner. “Does that actually work?”

Sungwoong chuckled and passed by her, being sure to let his hand skim her lower back. “It does indeed. What do you listen to? Personally, all I have is old jazz, like Nat King Cole and Mary Lou Williams. But I do have a few of Sinatra and Crosby if that suits you.”

Nikita tucked a strand of dark hair behind her pierced ears. “Anything you like.”

Sungwoong’s slight simper showed he approved of that answer and he moved an unknown record out of its sleeve and underneath the needle. The quick scratching as the needle laid home and soon the small room was filled with a soft, soulful saxophone. Immediately, it wrapped its invisible arms around Nikita and seemed to put her at ease.

Sungwoong leaned against his desk and brought forth a tin, opening it to expose a collection of fine cigars. “Would you like one?”

Nikita shook her head. “I don’t smoke.”

“Then, I won’t either,” Sungwoong said and closed the tin shut. “Now tell me your favorite book.”

Nikita thought for a moment, eyes scanning over the collections of spines—both new and worn. “Honestly, my favorite would be Lord of the Flies.”

Thin eyebrows raised in mild surprise. “Really?” Nikita nodded. “I must say that’s one of my favorites as well.” Nikita would have questioned anyone else for agreeing with, thinking he was merely trying to impress her. However, Sungwoong had no reason to really impress Nikita. He had her nearly as soon as she saw him on the runway. “I’m also quite a fan of Hamlet and I can handle Socrates if I’m in the right mood.”

“Such a scholar,” Nikita said and Sungwoong noted the way she was playing with the rings on her slender fingers, the way her head tilted to one side. “Forgive me for drawing conclusions about you. I’ve been around enough mobsters to think them as greasy, disgruntled perverts who care more for liquor than anything worth of value.”

“You yourself have surprised me,” said Sungwoong, rising to his full height at six foot. He towered over Nikita, who barely passed the five-foot mark. “I see so many women in this business who are either too timid or too…stupid to really make much of themselves. But you…” He drew closer, hands leaving his sides to touch hers, “you’re a bold woman with a brain.”

His hands grasped her sides tightly and spun her around so her back collided with his desk. The sudden movement startled Nikita, pain shooting through her lower back when it contacted the thick wood. However, alarm quickly changed to what brewed in Sungwoong’s dark eyes. “If I may say, that is very alluring,” he purred, his form dipping down closer to his face.

“You may say,” said Nikita. Her hands reached up only to run down the front of white dress shirt and black vest. She felt the firm, carved muscles underneath, exciting her. For a man in his forties, he was in peek condition.

Sungwoong pressed himself closer to her, his body nearly quivering with desire. He had been busy for months and had not had a good fuck in a long time. If Nikita Saha was fine with him taking her on his desk, he would gladly do it in a moment. He kissed her, lips harsh on hers. To his delight, he felt her kiss back, relishing in the way her body moved closer to his, warmth emanating between them. Nikita’s fingers slid along his tie, loosening it before beginning to peel back the buttons of his shirt. He let her do as he wished; the fact that she was taking a form of initiative made him that much more needy for her touch. He illustrated that need by pushing his tongue past her lips, grasping her face to hold her tightly, weaving his fingers through soft tresses.

When Nikita’s cool hands ran up his exposed torso then let her nails scrape down, he sucked in a deep breath. God, this woman had him nearly in a puddle on the Persian rugs. His own hands began to move behind her and started to unzip her dress. Movements stumbled slightly when she brushed her fingers along the waistband of his pants. When Sungwoong finally got ahold of himself long enough to grasp the zipper, Nikita pulled away from their embrace. At first, Sungwoong leaned forward when she dipped back, but she pressed a hand over his mouth.

“Uh uh uh…don’t be getting so eager,” she chided lightly, taking his biceps and pulling his arms away from behind her.

Sungwoong wanted to be ashamed of the way his breathing was hurried, but he couldn’t. Lust was still flaming at the edges of his vision and all he wanted was to have this woman writhing on top of his desk. However, when he saw the mischief flash in her ungodly eyes, he knew his fantasy would be short-lived.

“It’s getting late and I’m sure my father is going to wonder where I went.” As she said this, Nikita was running a hand from Sungwoong’s sternum to below his navel, openly admiring the abdominal and pectoral muscles carved from long hours of intense training. She glimpsed the tattoo placed across his chest: seven black stars.

“We can make it fast.” Sungwoong’s tone was far from pleading. No, he would not beg for this because he knew Nikita’s mind was already made. Instead, he only wanted to get rid of the ache that now grew in his nether regions.

Nikita giggled and stood, only to kiss his chest. She was determined to destroy his willpower and sanity with her prowness. “I’d love to, but you see, I’m not very quiet and I’m sure the whole house would hear us. So maybe somewhere more…private next time.”

Instead of being angry like so many men had been in the past, Sungwoong smiled. “You tease…” he spoke through gritted teeth and laid another firm kiss on her lips. “I’ll look forward to it,” he said.