Emperor of Mayhem

81 [ part three]

THE BAD ENDING  
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MIKHAIL
 

It was 8 AM. And all I did was casually strut into the kitchen like any normal human being would. But at the mere sight of me, my chef was shivering as fear leaped into his dull hazel eyes, and the knife he was gripping before I entered slipped from his grip in no time, making a loud clunk that rang annoyingly in my ears on hitting the tiled floor. 

How dramatic, I thought to myself, scoffing inwardly.

I believed for sure that I didn't walk around with bloodshot eyes or horns on my head. Or perhaps a permanent scowl on my face to make me appear as such a lousy monster. Albeit my seemingly incomprehensible good looks, I was sure I still had the build and physique of an average man. I always glanced at myself in the mirror, and I knew for sure that my eyes may be slightly hard due to the darkness playing an orchestra in my head, but I hardly display my virulence on my face to make people always want to shit their pants at the sight of me.

Most of the time my expressions were passive, unconditioned, and unreadable. So what was really the big deal here?

"S-sir," even the words from his lips were stuttered and uncoordinated, and it irritated the hell out of me, "Do you want something?" 

"How far are you into whatever you are cooking up?" I asked, throwing a pack of pasta I just pulled from a cabinet across the counter.

I gestured for him to take off his apron and he did immediately, his limbs dancing like a leaf during an autumn wind as he handed it over to me. I fixed the apron on myself.

"I-It's just a light breakfast. I just started, sir—"

"—pause it and get back to it later," I dismissed without even sparing him much of a glance as I busied myself pulling out cabinets in the refrigerator, searching for seafood that would go into my pasta, "I need to use the kitchen for a little while."

"Do you have something in particular that you would love to eat, sir?" He stalled, asking me silly questions when I expected him to have disappeared already. 

My jaws clenched and I turned to face him, that fear still burning bright in his eyes, "Putin?" I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. 

"Ye—yes, sir." 

"I want to use the kitchen quickly. Can you, I don't know, like excuse me for maybe an hour?" I asked again, trying to be clearer this time just in case he didn't get me before, "Can you do that?"

"Sir—" 

"—Sukin syn!" My hand slammed angrily against the sandstone counter, the other hand pointing at the exit,  "Ubiraysya!"

It seemed my rage was all it took for my request to sink in as he scurried away after my very expected outburst.

My eyes snapped shut after he left, an action that I hoped could chase back the rage that was already spreading through my chest. 

Maybe my outburst was uncalled for, maybe the irritation was unnecessary. But I blamed it all on the fact that I just received an annoying call and my mood was ruined. One of the well-known mafia amongst the list of many who were deemed potentially strong enough to pose as a great ally was the Japanese Mafia called the Yakuzas. I scheduled a meeting with them in the middle of all this sudden drama about marrying some princess to strengthen my mafia, hoping I could get them on my side. I placed so much hope on them, expecting a fucking positive reply only for them to reach out to me today with a piece of bad news.

Apparently, they couldn't trust me. So they declined the possible treason. Now their rejection didn't annoy me as much as thinking back to how many days I'd had to spend away from Azania just so I could seal this deal with them. I stayed so far away from her just to get some damn Sons of bitches on my side and they dared to reject me.