Extra Side Story - Luck of the Devil (Pt. 2) (Patreon)

Hey guys 👋 Sorry for the wait. I got a bit carried away writing interactions between these two and I actually ended up writing an additional 6K words that I'll split up into Part 2 and 3 😄 I really enjoyed writing the story and I hope you guys enjoy it too! Do let me know your thoughts in the comments or over in the #patreon-general-discussion if you are in my Discord server! 💖

* * * * *

The day of the party…

You peer at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. The white shirt uniform is a little bit tight around the chest and biceps, but it fits on you nicely and the tightness is not really apparent unless you really scrutinize it and everyone knows that waiters in a party full of elites are basically invisible.

Next, you put on the black vest and the black bowtie. Ugh, this whole outfit feels so… restraining. Doesn’t matter; you just have to endure it in the next few hours. You’re actually not sure what to do with your hair. It’s too short to really be slicked back or to the side. You’ll just leave it how it is then; you don’t really have enough fuck right now to worry about whether your hairstyle is formal enough.

You take one last overall look in the mirror. It’s weird to see you not wearing your usual hoodie or techwear jacket, but you don’t look as bad as you thought you would—at least until your eyes drift back up to the scars littering your face, especially the hideous one pulling your right upper lip.

It’s almost like a wake-up call. You reach for the face mask and black cap before quickly putting on your jacket. You’re already a bit late, but it’s intentional; you’re hoping that you’ll be able to slip in easier in the middle of the chaos of the staff preparing for the party at the last minute and that they won’t really check whether you are actually the guy in the worker ID shown.

Swiftly making your way down the dingy stairway of the apartment building you’re currently staying at, you get on your bike. It doesn’t take you long to reach the hotel, mostly thanks to you swerving in and out of traffic recklessly.

The security guard stationed at the staff door stops you and asks you to show your ID lazily. You dig out the borrowed worker ID and flash it at him. “I’m here with the catering service for tonight’s party,” you inform him. His eyes trail from the ID to your half-obscured face for a few seconds before shrugging and letting you in. You almost sigh in relief as you quickly get in.

The possibility of the guard asking you to remove your face mask has been making you anxious throughout the whole ride here. Somehow, the guard just saw your eyes and the upper half of your face and deducted that yeah, you’re the same guy as the one in the worker ID. Deep down, you know why and usually it would annoy you, but this time, it worked in your favor.

As soon as you step into the big kitchen area, you’re accosted by who you assume is the supervisor of the catering staff. “Where the hell have you been?! You’re very late! The first few guests are already here!” he hisses, almost inaudible from the ruckus of all the other staff working around you.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say. “The traffic was—”

“Traffic, traffic, traffic!” he clicks his tongue in annoyance. “It’s always the traffic. You’re lucky we need every hand available tonight or I would have dismissed you. What’s your name? I’ll still have to deduct this from your paycheck.”

Oops. You didn’t even think this might happen, but whatever, this is not your problem.

“Jason Choi, sir,” you reply without missing a beat. Maybe Mr. Tang will share some of the fifty percent that he’ll take from you to Jason.

The supervisor notes down the name in a notepad. “Go change into your uniform and I want you up on the 35th floor and report to Mrs. Lee, pronto. Oh, and don’t forget to wear the party mask,” he says before marching away to berate another poor staff that catches his attention.

You walk around, navigating your way through the organized chaos of the staff and cooks until you finally find the staff locker room. Taking off your jacket, you stuff it into an empty locker. You consider putting your face mask in it too since you’ll be wearing a full face mask anyway, but decide to just put it in the pocket of your dress pants in case you need it.

Snatching a plain black volto mask, you put it on as you make your way to the staff elevator. You feel safer already, hiding behind the mask. Time to play make-believe, you guess.

The supervisor on this floor, Mrs. Lee, hands you a tray of hors d’oeuvres before sending you out into the den of vipers. There are already more guests around than you first expected, milling around and talking with each other in little groups, all wearing fancy Venetian masks.

Shit, you hope your target has not arrived yet, and from a quick glance, you can’t really find one that matches the description Mr. Tang gave. You decide to strategically station yourself near and overlooking the entrance.

After around fifteen minutes of involuntarily eavesdropping on the various rumors about the elites of the city and hearing the rich complain about problems that you didn’t even think of before, it seems your target has finally arrived, fashionably late.

Two men step into the room, flanked by two bodyguards trailing behind them. However, it is only the taller one of the two that catch your attention. The man is very tall and clothed in an expensive-looking black shirt, tie, and suit. The simple black-and-silver colombina mask that he’s wearing only covers the upper half of his face and his icy blue still shines through as he glares at the other guests who have now focused their attention on the pair and start moving closer.

That is clearly Luka Morozov and as if to confirm your belief, you hear the two women near you talk to each other hushedly.

“Oh my, is that Luka Morozov?” one of them whispers excitedly to her friend. “He is even more handsome than how you described him!”

“It seems like Takashi really managed to get him to attend after all. We’re so lucky,” her friend giggles. “Do you want to try approaching him?”

“Like, now?” the woman asks, panic and embarrassment lacing her voice. “I’m not ready yet! I gotta go check my make-up first.”

“Fine…” her friend groans. “But don’t take too long, okay? The other guests will be clamoring to talk to him and Takashi soon. And who knows how long he’ll actually stay?”

The two men talk about something before the shorter man—who must be Takashi Aikawa—claps Luka’s back enthusiastically and walks toward the guests, greeting a few of them whom he immediately recognizes with a wide grin on his face. Almost immediately, he becomes the centre of the party as the guests surround him to hear what he has to say.

You turn back to where Luka was standing only to find no one there now. Shit. You quickly look around and… there he is, making his way quietly toward the one and only balcony entrance and away from the party. Perfect. Now, to find a reason to approach him.

Looking down at the tray you’re holding, you notice that it’s almost empty now. Maybe you can fill it up and approach him under the pretense of bringing him some snacks or something. You quickly return to the staff area and as you pass through the door, you notice Mrs. Lee is talking with another staff who is obviously looking troubled and even a bit scared.

“C—Can I just maybe serve Mr. Aikawa instead of Mr. Morozov?” the staff says meekly.

“We already have someone for Mr. Aikawa. I know Mr. Morozov might be an intimidating man, but he’s also Mr. Aikawa’s guest of honor and he has to be treated as such!” Mrs. Lee explains exasperatedly. “And you, quivering in your shoes, is not a good look at all…”

You perk up; sounds like it’s a job for you! You approach them and Mrs. Lee looks up at you, frustration and stress creasing her face. “What is it again?” she groans in annoyance.

“I heard you’re looking for someone to serve Mr. Morozov for the night. I can do it,” you say confidently.

She looks at you up and down critically and you inadvertently straighten your posture. “Fine, you’ll do, I guess,” she sighs, dismissing the other guy with a wave of her hand. The guy looks so happy and relieved as if he just evades a punishment. “Put the hors d’oeuvres there.” She points to a steel table and you obediently do so before returning to her side.

She hands you a tray with an expensive-looking vodka bottle and a glass. “Now, bring this to Mr. Morozov and you’ll basically serve him the whole night, you got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply steadily and she nods in approval.

“Now, get out there.” She nudges you impatiently towards the door.

As soon as you’re back at the party, you make a beeline straight to the balcony entrance. The guards stop you immediately.

“I’m here to bring refreshments for Mr. Morozov,” you gesture at the tray.

One of the guards steps away to probably ask Luka. A couple of minutes later, she returns and nods at you. Without another word, you walk past them, steering clear of the pool. You see Luka’s broad back as you round the hedge divider walls that encompass a cozy and private seating area separated from the rest of the outdoor seating and pool area.

He is leaning on the balcony’s railing, not even turning to look at you or acknowledging your presence as you approach. You step forward until you stand beside him—well, not right beside him; there’s still a respectful distance between the two of you fitting for strangers.

You clear your throat quietly before saying, “Good evening, sir. Your drink.”

He turns slightly to glance at you and the bottle of vodka you offer. “Fucking finally,” he mutters under his breath in Russian.

But before you can even think of pouring the drink into the glass, he snatches the bottle and just drinks directly from it. You just watch, face wincing slightly under your mask as you see him gulp down the bitter alcohol as if it’s water or something; he doesn’t even flinch a bit.

After the hearty swig, he sighs, still in Russian, “I certainly needed that…” He turns again to look over the city, the bottle of vodka still gripped in his hand lazily.

Well, it seems like the glass won’t be needed for the night. You walk over to the round, wicker coffee table and set the glass down before returning to his side. Minutes pass by and he still doesn’t acknowledge your presence.

In the meantime, you’re racking your brain for ways to try to start a conversation with him without it feeling awkward. Your eyes trail over his face—or at least the part that is not covered by the mask—as you attempt to read his mood.

Even with the mask on, you can certainly see the handsomeness that people are talking about. The sharp planes of his face, the luscious midnight locks neatly slicked to the side, and his very tall height, all add to not only the domineering air that surrounds him but also his appeal. But you do notice that the previous irritation in his icy blue eyes is mostly gone now, replaced with a softer look of… sadness. It’s clear that his mind is far away from the beautiful view of the city he’s overlooking right now.

“Do you have someone you care about?” Luka suddenly asks, his voice cutting through the silence almost making you jump.

In fact. you’re so surprised by both the question and the fact that he’s talking to you first that you can only muster an intelligent, “What?”

He scoffs out a soft laugh as he shakes his head. “You don’t need to answer that. It is a weird question to ask a stranger and I promise that I usually don’t do that. I don’t even know why I said that.”

The silence returns once again as you ponder on how to answer his question—this is your chance to talk to him. “No,” you say quietly, pain still involuntarily seeping into your voice even now. “I don’t have one…” Anymore.

You’re not sure why you decide to tell him the truth; maybe because you don’t really have anything much to lose now. You used to have your mom, but everything changed when you found her lying dead in her own pool of blood years ago. And now, you’re standing here, dressed up as a waiter and about to have a heart-to-heart with one of the most powerful people in the city.

Luks turns to look at you in understanding. “I… know the pain and I’m sorry to hear that,” he says a bit awkwardly. It’s clear he’s not a man used to giving words of comfort, but his words ring with genuine sympathy that you didn’t think he was capable of, at least from the way people talk about him.

He takes another swig of the vodka as the two of you fall silent once again. You wonder who is it that he has lost… Another family member? A romantic partner? Is that why he has not been in a relationship to this day? In truth, you probably would never get close enough to him to know for sure.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” he says again. “If you think about it, our loved ones are almost like… shackles in a way. They hold us back because they are our weak points, but still, they are the shackles we willingly put on and even fight to keep. I don’t know whether that makes sense or not.”

You get the point he’s trying to make; if it weren’t for your mother, you would have run away sooner. But you never see your love and devotion to your mother to be a burden. “I see what you mean, but also, I don’t really see them as shackles so to speak. Maybe more of… what do you call it? An anchor? They help ground you, making your life and everything you do mean something a bit more. Without them, you’ll be drifting aimlessly, just living day to day just because you are still alive.”

Just like me right now, huh? Some days, you lie awake thinking why you’re still fighting so hard to stay alive when it’s clear that your life is nothing more than just survival. Probably just to spite the people who are pursuing you and to not give them the satisfaction of seeing you dead while they are still alive.

Luka blinks at you in surprise before his lips are pulled up in a slight smile. “I concede. Your analogy is far better than mine and I completely agree.” He raises his bottle of vodka in a toast before downing the rest of the content.

“Uh, do you want me to grab another bottle?” you ask, before quickly adding, “Sir.”

Luka chuckles, “Are you sure you’ve passed whatever training they gave you?”

“I did pass,” you lie. “I just didn’t really take it to heart honestly. Also, I’m still new, so sorry about that.”

Luka hums in amusement, “I don’t know whether I should be offended that they sent me a trainee to serve me for the night.”

“Well, the last guy they wanted to send you was too busy shitting his pants when he found out. I just stepped in and offered myself to do it,” you shrug.

“And you’re not afraid of me?” he asks curiously.

“Afraid? Not really. But respect? Yes—despite my accidental usage of curse words in front of you. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind it that much,” he snickers. “It’s actually quite refreshing even, not that I’m encouraging you to do the same to other guests.”

“Duly noted,” you grin. “Well, do you want me to grab you another bottle of vodka, sir? Or maybe some food?”

And of course, as you say that, your stomach rumbles. Damn it, you should have known that the brunch you had today wouldn’t be enough. It’s so fucking embarrassing and you are this close to covering your already masked face with the tray you’re currently holding.

Luka in the meantime just laughs. “Sure, go grab some food and make sure to take what you like.”

“But what do you like?” you ask.

He just waves his hand off. “I’m not that hungry. So, don’t worry about it,” he dismisses you as he reaches for his buzzing phone to answer it. Well, that’s your sign to leave for now and you do so.