January 13, 2019.
Inside room 407, the air was filled with a subtle scent of incense. A floor lamp bathed the room in an amber glow, casting long shadows across the walls. Two figures waited in silence. One of them, seated in a leather armchair, drummed his fingers against the armrest with calculated patience; the other, standing by the window, stared at the illuminated Brandenburg Gate in the distance, never taking his eyes off the world outside.
"He'll be here soon," murmured the man by the window, without turning. His voice was deep, almost monotone.
The one in the armchair allowed a faint smile to appear. "He's already here."
And then, as if the words had been a prophecy, the faint creak of the hallway echoed. A shadow paused before the door marked with the golden number 407.
Lars took one last deep breath and pressed the doorbell. The sound was brief, metallic, amplified by the silence of the corridor.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then hurried footsteps sounded inside the room, followed by a male voice, sing-song in tone:
"I'm coming, I'm coming! Don't break the door down, I'm not ready to die of a heart attack yet."
The door opened with a soft creak, and on the other side stood a tall man, with tousled brown hair and a wide smile that contrasted with the elegance of the hotel. He wore a rolled-up white shirt and a dark vest, but carried it with such carefree air it looked as though he had just thrown on the first thing he found.
"Aha, you must be Lars." The man looked him up and down with playful boldness. "Pleasure to meet you. Though, I've got to admit, I thought you'd be taller. Or maybe with more of a potential-killer face."
He burst out laughing before stepping aside and gesturing for Lars to enter. "Come in, come in, don't freeze out in the hallway."
Lars, a bit taken aback by the man's overflowing energy, stepped inside. The warmth of the room wrapped around him at once. The contrast was almost unreal: the room was lit by soft lamps, yet carried a messiness that didn't fit the perfection of the hotel. Papers lay on the table, a couple of empty bottles, and a jacket tossed over a chair.
Near the window, seated in an armchair, was the second man. His posture was relaxed, a glass in his hand and a half-smile that seemed permanently fixed on his face. His eyes locked on Lars for a moment, and though his expression was friendly, there was a flicker of recognition, as if he had seen him before.
"So this is the new kid…" he said in a calm voice, tinged with mischief. "Doesn't look as lost as they told me."
The first man laughed again and closed the door with a light thud. "Hey, that's a compliment coming from him, trust me. I'm Marcus Bahlow, and that grumpy one over there is Viktor Wagner."
Viktor arched an eyebrow, not losing his smile. "I'm not grumpy. I just have better taste than you when it comes to first impressions."
"Bah, details." Marcus shrugged, then turned back to Lars. "So… ready for an unforgettable night? Don't worry, we don't bite… at least not on the first date."
Lars couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh. The tension that had followed him to that door was beginning to fade, replaced by a strange sensation: these two weren't what he had imagined. They were different, lighter, more human.
"I thought we'd be getting straight to business," Lars said, his eyes cautiously scanning the room.
Viktor, who until then had been watching the city from the window, stepped aside and calmly picked up three papers from the cluttered table. He raised them.
"These are the plane tickets. United Arab Emirates. We leave tomorrow. Don't worry, everything's already arranged."
Lars frowned, incredulous. "How do you know where to go if we've only just met?"
"Because Klein Lombardi already filled us in," Marcus replied, pouring himself some wine like he was at home.
"Klein Lombardi…" Lars repeated, surprised. "Is he Italian?"
Marcus tasted the wine and grinned. "Didn't tell you, huh? Yeah, but apparently he came to Germany when he was just a kid. Guess that's why he doesn't sound like it."
Viktor set the tickets on the table and slipped on his coat. "By the way, there's a party in the hotel's event hall. We should go."
Marcus let out a loud laugh. "You never miss one! Fine, I'm in." He downed the rest of his glass and got up with enthusiasm.
Lars stopped them before they opened the door. "Wait. I'm supposed to be missing. If someone recognizes me, that won't exactly be a good thing."
Viktor turned toward him with a half-smile. "Relax, it's a masquerade. Some aristocrat got married and threw the party for all the guests. No one will know who you are."
Lars hesitated for a moment, then sighed, resigned, and followed them out.
At the entrance of the hall, a woman behind a desk greeted them with a smile and gestured elegantly toward a collection of masks."You may choose whichever you like best."
Each took one and fixed it to their face. Then they crossed through the doors. The place was impeccable: tables lined the sides with glasses and plates, a cleared space in the center for dancing, and onstage a pianist played a solemn melody.
"What kind of party is this, Viktor?" Marcus muttered with a grimace.
Lars let out a short laugh.
"Nobility got married," Viktor explained seriously. "So forget about getting drunk and dancing on tables. Best behave."
Marcus looked disappointed, but his expression changed instantly when he noticed something at the far end."Well… at least I can eat myself to death. Have you seen all that food?"
And he rushed toward the buffet, with Viktor following.
Lars, however, stayed behind, watching the guests arrive—men in immaculate suits, women in shimmering dresses. Then his eyes froze on a female silhouette. Her back, her posture—they struck him as hauntingly familiar.
He advanced with uncertain steps, leaving Marcus and Viktor's chatter behind, until he was right behind her. He touched her shoulder gently."Amelia…"
The woman turned, and indeed, it was her."Lars? What are you doing here?" Amelia's voice trembled slightly, though she masked it with a faint smile. The mask hid her eyes, but her lips betrayed her nervousness.
A tall, imposing man turned toward her. "Daughter, who is this man?"
Lars glanced at him, and in that instant, the air froze in his lungs. Several people surrounded Amelia's father, but one silhouette among them chilled his blood: Abraham. The leader of the Meyerns mafia. His worst nightmare. The man seemed distracted, talking to someone else, unaware of Lars.
Lars reacted instantly, turning his back to hide his face. A tense murmur slipped from his lips. "Amelia… what the hell is going on?"
She held his gaze firmly, urgency flickering in her eyes. "Not here. I'll explain outside."
She turned to her father, raising her voice to sound casual. "Father, I'll be there in a moment!"
Before anyone could say more, she grabbed Lars by the arm and pulled him decisively out of the hall. She led him far from there.
They arrived at Amelia's room."Lars… this is quite a surprise," she said, closing the door behind her.
Lars tore off his mask brusquely. "Don't change the subject. You know Abraham… and all this time in the palace you never told me. Knowing what he did to me!" His voice dripped with contained rage.
Amelia lowered her eyes, uneasy. "Believe me, I wanted to tell you, but… I feared exactly this. That you'd react with anger."
"And how do you know him?" Lars pressed, frowning.
She crossed her arms before answering. "Our fathers have been friends for over twenty-five years. That's why Abraham's daughter and I are… very close."
Her words hit Lars like a hammer.
That monster… has a daughter?
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Is there anything else I should know?"
"As I said, she and I have always been friends. We studied at the same school, at the same university. We know the bride, which is why we came here."
Lars clenched his jaw. In his mind, an idea began to form.
I know how to get close to that bastard…
He stepped closer to Amelia, leaving only a small space between them. "I want you to introduce me to Abraham's daughter."
Amelia also stepped closer, staring into his eyes. "Wait. Calm down. I won't let you hurt her. She's not guilty of what her father does—or has done."
A faint smile curved Lars' lips. "Relax… nothing will happen to her."
He put his mask back on, and as they approached the event hall again, Lars stopped at the mask table. He chose a different one: one that covered everything from his nose upward. Amelia watched him silently.
"Where is the girl? What's her name?" Lars asked.
Amelia gently took his arm, as if trying to restrain his drive. "Her name is Chloe. She's truly beautiful. Last time I saw her, she was with the bride."
As they walked back toward the hall, Amelia's father watched them closely from afar.
Amelia guided Lars until they reached the bride. At her side stood two girls; one of them was undoubtedly Chloe. She wore a long red dress with long sleeves, a black mask that covered part of her face, and her shiny brown hair cascaded in soft waves.
Still holding Lars' arm, Amelia leaned toward them with a smile. "Girls! Where have you been? I've been looking for you."
The bride raised her eyebrows and looked at her mischievously. "Amelia… I didn't know you were dating someone."
Amelia's cheeks flared red, and she immediately released Lars' arm. "No, no! It's not that… we're just friends." She glanced nervously at Lars, as if afraid he'd misunderstand.
He frowned slightly, puzzled by her reaction, but kept his composure. Amelia quickly tried to recover and went on: "His name is…"
"Lucas," Lars interrupted calmly, stepping forward before she could reveal his real name. He extended his hand politely toward the three women. "A pleasure to meet you."
Amelia gave him a strange look, instantly realizing she had to stay quiet. She couldn't possibly reveal who he truly was in front of Chloe, Abraham's daughter.
A waltz began to play in the hall, and couples headed to the dance floor. The groom immediately appeared to take his bride. Then a deep voice boomed from across the room: Amelia's father, calling for her.
"It's my father…" she said hastily. "I must go!"
With a small bow and gathering her dress, Amelia glanced one last time at Lars, blushed again, and hurried away.
Lars now found himself alone with Chloe. She seemed eager, expectant, with a playful spark in her eyes. He stepped forward, extended his hand with grace, and asked:
"May I have this dance?"
Chloe smiled behind her mask and, without hesitation, took his hand. Together, they moved toward the center of the floor, disappearing among the crowd already spinning to the rhythm of the music.