~MOUSE~
Ophelia extended her gratitude to the towering, bald bouncer whose muscles rippled beneath the tight fabric of his black security shirt.
The intricate designs of tattoos adorned his bare arms, creating a mosaic of linked stories.
The rhythmic thump of bass from within the club pulsed through the air as he nodded in acknowledgment, granting her entry.
She plastered on a polite yet feigned smile, the kind that flirted with charm but never quite committed.
The man seemed so stunned by it that he hardly even looked at her invitation.
Passing through the entrance, Ophelia found herself engulfed in a world of opulence and extravagance.
The club, a cavernous expanse of dimly lit allure, resonated with the murmur of conversation and the tantalizing beat of music that vibrated through the plush carpet beneath her heels.
The atmosphere was rich with the scent of fine perfumes and expensive liquor.
The ambient lighting cast a soft glow on the polished surfaces of the mahogany bar and reflected off the glittering dresses of the dancers.
The high-class clientele, adorned in tailored suits and elegant dresses, moved like choreographed dancers through the sea of tables and plush seating arrangements.
Waiters in immaculate black uniforms weaved gracefully between the clusters of patrons, delivering crystal glasses filled with amber liquid.
The stages around the room were elevated golden platforms surrounded by a cascade of velvet half-naked dancers in masks.
The music transitioned seamlessly, guiding the dancers through hypnotic movements that left the audience transfixed.
Callisto was right, they were a distraction.
Ophelia chose a seat at the bar, the cool leather embracing her as she observed the scene.
The dancers, adorned in extravagant costumes that seemed to defy gravity, twirled and contorted in a mesmerizing display of skill and sensuality.
While the clientele mingled and made deals in the corner of the room, feigning interest in the dancers.
She ordered a glass of champagne, the effervescent liquid bubbling in the crystal flute.
The bartender, a suave man with a neatly groomed beard, slid the glass across the bar with practised finesse.
As Ophelia sipped the golden elixir, her gaze wandered across the room, taking in the captivating scene of power, wealth, and desire.
The patrons, a blend of corporate moguls and socialites, engaged in animated conversations that echoed against the ornate walls.
She could practically see the cartel swarming around them like sharks.
Ophelia leaned back, enveloped in the plush comfort of her seat, absorbing it all.
Her gaze glided across the room, finally settling on a familiar figure.
Lean and handsome, his raven-black hair perfectly styled, and drilling brown eyes that seemed to cut through the dimly lit ambience.
Dressed in a sleek black suit that emphasized the confident lines of his form, he stood out even in the sea of opulence.
"Target in sight," she relayed in a hushed tone sipping her drink.
"He's even hotter in person. Someone tell Callisto," she whispered softly as she leaned back and watched the man walk around shaking hands and smiling.
"Copy," König's voice resonated in her ear with no emotion but she detected a slight anger in his tone.
She knew he was the jealous type, and it made her smile to know she was still getting under his skin.
She continued to sip her champagne, her eyes never leaving the enigmatic man across the room.
She needed an opening.
A way to get to him that wasn't too obvious.
Yeah, she could find shit in his office, but most Cartel bosses codded their computers and wrote everything in a way that would confuse anyone but them.
It was more effective to go straight for him.
It was also more dangerous.
But based on how she was dressed, not impossible.
Ophelia's eyes maintained their watchful gaze on the black-haired man as she sipped her champagne.
Before she could blink, a blonde woman radiating an air of sophistication, gracefully slid onto the barstool next to Ophelia.
The clinking of ice against glass accompanied the woman's order for a drink, and her blue eyes met Ophelia's with a warm and conspiratorial smile.
"I know, right? He's probably the most alluring man I've ever seen," the woman declared in English, her thick Russian accent lending a unique charm to her words.
Ophelia acknowledged the statement with a nod, feigning a shared admiration for the enigmatic figure across the room.
The woman continued, seemingly eager to bond over their shared appreciation.
"I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be with him," she mused, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of fantasy and desire.
Ophelia seized the opportunity, her trained instincts discerning more than the casual observer might notice.
Her eyes subtly assessed the woman's attire, revealing subtle details that spoke volumes.
The older man on the side of the room was watching her like a hawk, which hinted at a possessive connection.
And the massive diamond on the woman's hand screamed of a union not born of love but obligation.
Married to the older man, but not happily so.
She was stunning, curved, long blonde hair, wide blue eyes and thick red lips.
All squeezed into a tight black dress.
If she didn't have a shot at Dimitri then Ophelia sure as hell wouldn't.
The revelation fueled Ophelia's role, and she responded with a faux bashfulness, her features contorting into a charming smile as she adopted a flawless Russian accent.
"I know. I can't seem to look away from him. He's just so beautiful," she confessed, raising her voice to a higher pitch.
The blonde woman beside her reciprocated with an even wider smile.
"Beautiful yet so incredibly wicked," the woman said as she winked suggestively at Ophelia.
"Shame he only goes for the strippers. I get it though, wouldn't want to piss off anyone powerful by fucking their wife," the blonde woman said as she pouted and sipped a glass full of pure alcohol.
Ophelia's frown deepened as she absorbed the information dropped into the conversation.
"Oh, that's a shame. I love wicked," Ophelia remarked with a sly smile, her voice laced with a calculated hint of mischief.
She delicately picked at her nails, maintaining the illusion of a casual, carefree conversation.
The woman in front of her, eager to commiserate, smiled widely.
"I just know he'd be amazing in bed. My husband would probably have the aneurysm I'm hoping for," she confided, her gaze shifting back to Dimitri with a wistful expression.
Ophelia's laughter resonated through the air, this time unfeigned.
The woman was funny.
She hoped her husband did have an aneurysm.
"Mmm," Ophelia replied with a playful grin, biting her lip seductively as she took another sip of her drink.
The woman next to her, seemingly eager to be an accomplice in a clandestine game, gestured discreetly toward a small door at the end of the club.
"If your man's off somewhere else, that's the dancers' changing rooms," she revealed with a small smirk, her eyes glinting with a conspiratorial gleam.
Ophelia's composure remained intact, but inwardly, she relished the golden piece of information that had fallen into her lap.
As if sensing her thoughts she heard the comm in her ear crackle.
"Maus, hold orders," she heard Konig say stiffly in her ear.
Her eyes flew toward the small door and a wide smile broke out on her face.
"You're officially my new favourite person," Ophelia declared to the woman with a wide, fake smile, a gesture that masked the gears turning in her mind.
The blonde woman's smile grew as she waved her hand.
"Have fun, don't get caught, learned that the hard way," she advised before gracefully sashaying away.
Ophelia remained seated for a few minutes, sipping her drink and letting the atmosphere of the club envelop her.
The pulsating music, the rhythmic movements of the dancers, and the low hum of conversation created a backdrop for the unfolding mission.
"Don't," he warned a note of stern authority and something else in his tone.
His voice was hard and cold, reverberating through her earpiece and she could practically feel the jealously and uncertantly radiating from him.
Ophelia couldn't help but smirk.
Good, she was pissing him off.
Now he knew how it felt.
"I bet Dimitri doesn't disappear in the morning," Ophelia said quietly as she sipped her drink.
She knew she was pushing it and by the crackling silence in her earpeace, she knew her words had hit true.
Ignoring the wave of emotions that threatened to suffocate her she ordered three shots of vodka from the attentive bartender.
She downed the shots quickly, the fiery liquid igniting a controlled warmth within her.
Rising from her seat with purpose, Ophelia made her way towards the small door at the end of the club.
The atmosphere shifted as she moved away from the lively centre of the club, the sounds of revelry giving way to a more subdued ambience.
She knew he was watching, but this was a good idea.
And it always worked.
"Ich schwöre bei Gott, hör sofort auf," he seethed in her ear and could feel his anger as she walked towards the room with confidence.
The guards at the door nodded to her as she slipped inside.
High-class stripper indeed Roze. She thought as she walked into the room.
The changing room was a juxtaposition of glamour and practicality.
The air within was a mixture of scented candles and subtle perfumes, creating an ambience that spoke of both sensuality and sex.
Mirrored walls lined the space, reflecting the soft glow of vanity lights that framed each looking glass.
The room was spacious, adorned with plush velvet sofas and chairs, where performers could recline and she guessed have fun with clients.
A large central vanity table stood as the focal point, covered in an array of makeup palettes, brushes, and hair styling tools.
A rack against one wall held an assortment of extravagant costumes.
Sequins sparkled in the ambient light, and feathers cascaded down from some of the more extravagant outfits.
Ophelia embraced the transformative power of the changing room, immersing herself in the artistry of disguise.
With a deft hand, she adorned her features with a bolder palette, enhancing the allure that was already part of her clandestine charm.
Larger wings adorned her eyes, vibrant eyeshadow accentuated their intensity, and her lips now exuded a seductive shade of red.
"I said stop," the words in her ear were furious but she ignored him and continued brushing glitter over her dress.
"And I," she started as she dabbed the glitter over her skin.
"Am not listening," She said sweetly as she ran her fingers through her hair, creating an ethereal halo around her head.
She definitely looked like a high-class stripper now.
Surveying the room, Ophelia noted that all the dancers outside wore masks.
Her gaze fell upon a red lace mask adorned with feathers, a perfect complement to the embellished allure she had crafted.
Placing it over her head, the mask concealed a fraction of her features, adding an air of mystery to her ensemble.
No one would remember her.
She would be just another dancer in the club.
As Ophelia admired her reflection, a girl half-dressed in tight leather approached, her movements a combination of grace and confidence.
"You want next in for the private section? I can't deal with how handsy they are today," the girl said, her tone soft and deeply Russian.
"Will Demitri be there?" Ophelia questioned with a high-pitched accented voice, her feigned innocence concealing the calculated precision beneath.
The girl nodded in confirmation, and Ophelia's smile widened into a cunning expression.
"Absolyutno," Absolutly. Ophelia replied with her deceptive accent, her eyes gleaming with the thrill.
She swept more glitter onto her eyes, the sparkling particles catching the light like diamonds in the dark.
The woman in front of her smiled, a knowing expression crossing her face.
"You're in for a good time. You know how he loves red," she remarked with a smirk.
Her luck was never-ending.
The implication of understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of the game they were both playing.
He would fuck her.
Or take her somewhere like his office to have fun with.
Exactly where she needed to be.
Gesturing for Ophelia to follow, the woman led the way to the private section.
Ophelia trailed behind, the air thick with anticipation.
As she moved further into the labyrinth of the club, König's voice echoed in her ear.
"Maus," he warned and she could hear the bitterness in his tone.
Ophelia chose to ignore the directive.
Instead, she let a wicked grin cross her face.
"Beg," she whispered so quietly she was sure he wouldn't have heard her.
But by the crackling silence of her comms and heavy breathing, she knew he had.
Yet he remained silent.
Ophelia's grin turned bitter as she nodded her head.
"That's what I thought," she said as she brushed a curl over her ear and winked at a man who was staring at her from a seating area.
They were all playing her game now.
~~~~~~~~~~
TRANSLATIONS
German
"Ich schwöre bei Gott, hör sofort auf,"- I swear to God, stop right now