Control me.

Chapter 7 - Nick.

The alarm never needs to ring. Even when I get home at dawn, my body has learned to wake up on its own.

It was a little after six in the morning when I opened my eyes. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, but the first rays were already slipping through the glass walls that framed my entire villa in Bel Air.

I got out of bed slowly.

The sheets were still warm, carrying the scent of expensive women's perfume from the night before, but she had already left before sunrise. I never keep anyone for the morning. The sun doesn't belong to them. The sun belongs only to me and my business.

I walked to the window.

From up here, the view looked almost cinematic—mountains in the distance, palm trees swaying, enormous houses screaming wealth and power.

But what calmed me the most was the sight of my men outside.

Black SUVs parked along the street. Guards on the corners. One man at the security gate, two more patrolling the perimeter. Every movement precise, professional, silent.

This isn't a villa.

It's a fortress.

And it's mine.

I headed toward the kitchen.

I made coffee in my absurdly expensive Italian machine and took a cigar from the box of Cohibas. I cut it, lit it, took the first slow drag and let the smoke fill my chest.

The combination with the bitter, strong coffee was the purest ritual of my day.

Everything begins with fire and smoke.

I sat at the massive black marble table. In front of me were newspapers, company reports, updates from my people.

I flipped through the pages quickly.

Headlines about the stock market. Politics. Another arrest somewhere in the nightlife scene.

Nothing I hadn't already predicted.

The world moves slowly.

I move faster.

Then came the company documents. I'd learned to spot what mattered with a single glance.

Numbers never lie.

People do.

Numbers never.

I opened my phone.

Messages from Alan.

My loyal advisor. The man who knows how to stay exactly one step behind me—never in front, never more than I allow.

He had already prepared the day's schedule.

Meeting at ten in the office. Briefings with executives. Updates about Paul Anderson.

A faint smile crossed my face.

The little lawyer...

He looked ambitious. But ambition is a double-edged knife. We'll see whether it cuts in his favor—or turns against him.

I crushed the cigar in the crystal ashtray and stood up.

I went down to the gym I had built in the basement of the villa.

Mirrors covered the walls. State-of-the-art machines everywhere. Loud music pounding hard enough to split my ears.

I ran for half an hour.

Lifted weights.

Then I slammed my fists into the punching bag until my muscles burned.

There's no better way to clear your mind than letting sweat and anger drip onto the floor.

When I finished, I took a quick shower and got dressed.

Black suit.

White shirt.

Dark gray tie.

A Patek Philippe on my wrist. Polished shoes.

An appearance that screamed authority, power... and threat.

My men opened the door. I stepped into the black SUV and the convoy started moving.

One car in front. One behind. Both filled with armed guards.

During the drive, Alan opened a folder and started talking.

The elevator opened on the top floor.

The entire floor belonged to me—offices, meeting rooms, a private bar, and then my office.

The heart of my empire.

When I stepped inside, the smell of wood and leather welcomed me like an old friend.

My desk is a piece of black power.

Huge. Dark walnut. Its polished surface shining like a mirror.

Behind it, floor-to-ceiling windows showed all of Los Angeles spreading beneath me like a toy city.

A reminder that all those people out there live, move, breathe...

Because I allow it.

Alan walked in behind me, as always.

Same age as me. We grew up together in the streets, and now he stood beside me with the same loyalty we had as kids.

He's not just my right hand.

He's the brother I chose.

I dropped my jacket on the chair, loosened my tie, and sank into the leather seat.

Alan stood across from me with the folder in his hand.

"So?" he said calmly, that half-smile on his face that always hid something more.

"What are you planning to do with Anderson?"

I lit a cigar slowly, taking my time.

The smoke filled the room before I answered.

"I'll see him tonight."

Alan tilted his head slightly.

He knew that when I said that, it meant I had already built an entire scenario in my mind. I just wasn't ready to reveal it yet.

"The kid..." I continued. "He's soft. You saw it too. The way he stood, the tone of his voice, even the way he refused the cigar."

I exhaled smoke slowly.

"He doesn't have the fire inside him."

I leaned back in my chair.

"But he has something else. Hunger. He'd do anything for a little glory... for more money. I saw it in his eyes."

I took a deep drag from the cigar.

"The problem is, hunger without courage makes you dangerous. A man like that—if you don't keep him on a tight leash—can become the weak link."

Alan nodded.

"And if he is? We break him. Like we've done with so many others."

A crooked smile formed on my lips.

"I don't want him deep in the business yet. I don't trust him. I don't know if he can swim in a sea of blood."

I paused.

"And I don't have time to pull drowning men out of the water."

Alan walked to the bar, poured two glasses of whiskey, and handed one to me.

"Then keep him at the surface. Give him something to do—nothing too important. Make him sweat. If he proves useful, we move forward."

He shrugged.

"If not..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence.

Our silence said everything.

"I'll test him," I finally said. "But on my terms."

I looked straight at Alan.

"And I want to know every move he makes. Who he is. Who he talks to. Which girl warms his bed at night. What he thinks about when he wakes up."

I paused.

"Everything."

Alan smirked.

"I already know," he said with that arrogant smile that always amused me. "I was just waiting for you to ask."

I studied him for a moment.

Alan always worked one step ahead.

That's why he was still standing beside me.

I raised my glass.

"To the surface then. Let's see if he learns how to swim... or if he sinks."

Our glasses clinked.

The smoke from my cigar mixed with the scent of whiskey, and inside that smell was my truth:

Anyone who wants to stand beside me must first survive the fire.

If I wanted to know whether Paul Anderson had a spine, I would have to throw him into my arena.

I leaned back behind the desk, the half-finished cigar resting in the ashtray, and turned to Alan again.

"Call him. Tonight I want to see him up close—but not here."

Alan raised an eyebrow.

"The new place?"

I nodded.

"Elysium."

It was my jewel.

Not a random name.

A club built for the elite—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, private VIP booths, music that pushed you to drink and surrender without losing your prestige.

It had nothing to do with my darker establishments.

This was the showcase.

The brightest thing Nick Martinez could show Los Angeles.

Alan pulled out his phone, dialed Anderson's number, and put it on speaker.

The line opened almost immediately.

Paul's voice sounded careful... but full of energy.

"Mr. Martinez?"

I leaned forward.

"Paul."

My voice came out low and steady.

"I thought a lot about what we discussed in the interview. I don't usually give second chances... but I'm giving you an opportunity to impress me."

There was a short pause on the line.

"Tonight I'm opening a new club. The best in the city. I want you to come."

Silence.

Then Paul finally spoke.

"It would be an honor, Mr. Martinez," he said, his voice slightly higher than he would have liked.

I smiled at Alan.

Exactly the reaction I expected.

"Ten o'clock. Sunset Boulevard, near Rexford. They'll be expecting you at the entrance. You won't have any trouble getting in."

Paul rushed to answer.

"Of course. I'll be there. Thank you very much for the invitation."

I ended the call without unnecessary politeness.

Alan looked at me with a crooked smile.

"Tonight then, Nick."

He raised his glass.

"We'll find out if the kid is ready to play with the big beasts."

I lit another cigar.

Smoke covered my face, and inside it images formed:

Elysium packed with people.

Glasses clinking.

Music vibrating through the walls.

And in the middle of it all...

Little Paul Anderson, his eyes locked on me, trying to hide his fear.

A game had just begun.