His Doll

*** ZAVIYAAR SHEIKH ***

I was in a dimly lit, deadly basement, surrounded by my ten men to ensure no one could enter or leave. They served as guards followed by another man on the ground, writhing in inexplicable pain.

That fucking journalist who made a futile attempt to smear my name.

"Ahh! Let me go, please..."

His screams echoed in the basement when my right hand, Hashir, broke both his ankles, torturing his body.

Where is that courage now?

Indulging in the whole painful sight, resting my one leg over the other. In a black suit jacket, I leaned back on the chair. Slowly opening two buttons of my shirt, revealing my toned chest.

Ashes from the cigar in my mouth were falling slowly, accompanied by an intimidating smirk, watching the man being tormented with amusement.

"What were you saying about our Boss in the media, hmm?"

Growled Hashir, teaching him a lesson for making me his enemy.

Grabbing his hair and kicking him until he was bloody and unable to take the pain anymore.

"P-Please, I am sorry! I will delete that video!"

He sobbed, salty tears making his bruises sting, gasping for air but his scream wiped my smirk.

"Delete it, huh?"

My deep, husky resonance echoed in the basement. Running my rough fingers through my brown hairs, my hazel eyes lifted, raising one eyebrow perfectly.

"Sir Sir, please,"

Rising from my seat, I held the cigar between my index and middle finger, letting the ashes fall on his bloody cheek to make it hurt more.

"Please, please, please..." He whimpered, trembling before me like he should.

"You see. It's not about it coming in public. It's about why it came to the surface in the first place. Do you know how much uproar it could possibly cause if it got leaked on social media?" I hissed, putting my foot over his head, pressing it harder on the ground.

"Please, give me a chance-"

The poor journalist sobbed, praying that I would give him a chance only to be cut off by me dominantly.

"I don't give second chances."

Enunciating, I released my cigar, making it fall on his skin, making it burn.

"Have mercy, Zaviyaar Sheikh, people look up to you, they call you their savior."

When he whispered that desperately, a malevolent glint flashed in my eyes, pumping my blood in thrill as I took out my customized gun made out of pure gold.

"And you tried to ruin that image."

Growling seriously, I shot him in the head, killing that man who dared to cross his path with mine.

I didn't reach the ranking of a Mafia Ace by doing nothing.

"Because of you, I had to hold a whole fucking event to clear my name. Do you know how much I am respected here?"

Scoffing, I ruined my expensive shoes by kicking him, throwing his lifeless body against the wall. Putting my gun back, I raised my hair in the air, taking a deep breath to regain my composure.

"Oh, how will you answer? You are dead." I chuckled breathlessly, ruffling my hair to push them behind and moved back.

"Take care of him, Hashir, his name, his existence, everything should vanish along with that video. And find out who else was involved with him. I shall eradicate them all myself." I ordered, wearing my shades with my men following me from behind.

"Yes, Boss." Hashir nodded as I left the basement, allowing him to clean up the mess as I went to my hotel.

From outside, I was seen as a 28 years old business tycoon. They adored me as I had created such a noble image and I won't let anyone smear that name I had built.

No one from my domain knew that I was a Mafia Ace of the middle east, known as Heathen.

I was living an immaculate life.

Upon reaching the hotel, I was about to enter but the organizer of my charity event came to me. Gritting my teeth, I curled my hands in a fist that I had to act now.

"Sir! Sir! Since you are here, please attend the function. You are the one who funded this charity event."

'Relax, Zaviyaar, act normally.' Mentally preparing myself, I put my hand over my heart, flashing my most charming smile.

"I deeply apologize, I am here for work, I don't have time. The people are happy, right?" I asked sweetly.

"Of course! You are doing so much for us!" He grinned, he was looking up to me, like I was so above him.

Of course I was.

"Then their happiness is my happiness. If I could, I would have come but my flight is in the morning. Sorry." I apologized and was about to leave but his words stopped me.

"It's in the morning, Sir. Please, for a few minutes. The event is in the evening. People should see their savior." He pleaded with me.

Savior, hmm? "... Sure." Returning a faint smirk, I agreed.

"Thank you, thank you so much!" Grinning, he was about to leave but I called him strictly.

"Asim."

"Yes, Sir?"

"I am kind to those I help, but." Taking a pause, I took a step closer, taking the handkerchief from his front pocket.

"I am not merciful towards those who betray me." I said seriously.

"I-I don't understand, Sir." He chuckled nervously.

"Nothing, I was only teasing you. Go." I flashed a charming smile, motioning to him to leave.

"Okay, okay." Beaming, he left quickly.

The second he was out of sight, my smile faded quickly, rolling my eyes off at the act I had to maintain all the fucking time to ensure no one could smear it.

"Tsk, nuisance." I muttered, wiping the blood on my shoes from beating that journalist Brando and was about to leave only to be followed by a laughter from Hashir who patted my shoulder.

"It's your fault for creating such an immaculate and clean image that nobody suspects a thing and considers you a saint." He smirked, teasing me.

Hashir was not only my right hand but my most trusted, my best friend.

"Humans are so easily manipulated. Fake a few tears, smiles or words and they melt. They will consider you a saint. How pathetic." I sighed, giving him the dirty handkerchief which he passed onto another man to take care of it.

Truly, human emotions are so fragile. Hit a few sensitive spots and there you go, you hold their feelings in your palm.

"You and your habits, Boss." He sighed, knowing I won't change.

"Also, Hashir. Keep an eye out for this man. Monitor him and his activities for the next month. I don't trust him."

"Yes, Boss."

"Let's go. When is the event?"

"Around 8 pm." He informed, bringing back my devious smirk, ready to create an example out of my existence again.

"Good. Let's use it to clear our image that fucking journalist tried to smear."