#kovka
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muchitwenty-eight · 2 months ago
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𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍´𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 │𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏
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The sound of the door closing behind her marked the end of yet another endless meeting.
Tina Kovka exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of exhaustion clinging to her shoulders like an invisible burden. The conference room had been stifling, filled with the monotonous murmur of superiors discussing strategies, reviewing reports, and issuing orders that, at this point, slipped through her mind like sand through her fingers. Nothing she hadn't heard before. Nothing that could help ease the fatigue accumulating in her body like a second skin.
With firm steps, she walked down the police department hallway, feeling the echo of her boots resonating against the tiled floor. Around her, the daily hustle carried on: agents hunched over desks overflowing with documents, phones ringing nonstop, empty coffee cups scattered like silent witnesses of endless workdays. The scent of old paper and ink mixed with that of stale coffee and half-smoked cigarettes.
She adjusted her thigh holster with an automatic gesture, making sure everything was in place. Her sweatshirt with the London Police Department logo hung loosely over the boxy-cut white T-shirt, and her low-rise black jeans molded to her every movement with the ease of everyday wear. She didn't need a mirror to know that her appearance betrayed her lack of sleep. The feeling was enough.
Upon reaching her desk, she let a folder drop onto the table and collapsed into the chair, feeling the tension in her back protest with a slight twinge. In front of her, a board covered in photographs, newspaper clippings, and red strings awaited—a web of clues that still didn't quite fit together.
– Great – she muttered, rubbing her eyes.
She couldn't remember the last time she had slept more than four hours straight without dreaming of open case files and blurry faces watching her from the other side of consciousness.
The work didn't stop.
And neither could she.
The pen in her hand spun between her fingers at a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm. Tina's mind delved into the documents scattered across the desk, but exhaustion made her lose focus every few seconds. Her gaze traveled over the board in front of her—the black-and-white faces pinned with red tacks, the reports with crumpled edges, the diagrams drawn with rushed strokes. Nothing seemed to fit yet, and that thought frustrated her.
Then, a massive shadow covered the table.
A chill ran down her spine before she lifted her eyes. Standing before her, taking up more space than seemed physically possible, was the chief commissioner. A Black man wearing a suit that looked like it was about to burst at the seams, with a face as solid and stone-like as his own body. His bald head gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and his small, deep-set eyes looked at her with a mix of impatience and displeasure.
— Kovka, to the conference office.
His voice was a deep growl, as if every word was sharpened with the intent to cut off any attempt at objection.
Tina set the pen down on the table and looked at him, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
— I just came from there — she replied, dragging her words with exhaustion — I have work to do.
The man didn't even blink. His expression remained unchanged, only tilting his head slightly, casting even more of his shadow over her.
— To the office. Now.
She clenched her teeth. They knew each other too well for this to surprise her. There had always been an uncomfortable tension between them, a silent tug-of-war where neither gave in too much. He looked at her as if she were a constant problem, an unsolved case, an anomaly in his department. But despite everything, he kept her close. Kovka wasn't the typical obedient officer who nodded without question, but she was the best at what she did. And he knew it.
She exhaled heavily and pushed her chair back, standing up reluctantly.
— If you make me waste my time with another meeting about bureaucracy, I swear…
The commissioner had already turned on his heels and was walking away with the same imposing presence as always, not bothering to listen to her half-finished threat.
Tina huffed and, with an almost childish gesture, grabbed the folder more forcefully than necessary before following him. Her job exhausted her. Her boss exhausted her. But if he was calling an extra meeting, it meant something serious was in motion.
And that was enough to shake the sleep from her eyes.
Here's the start of the scene with all the details you requested. I'm going to make it extensive, gripping, and highly detailed.
Tina entered the conference room with a furrowed brow and tense shoulders. It wasn't because of the meeting itself—she was used to dealing with last-minute orders and absurd changes of plans—but because she hated wasting time when she had an open case on her desk. She had spent the last few days buried in files, photographs, and connection diagrams that still failed to form a clear picture, and now she was being pulled away from her work for a new mission that, knowing her superiors, would undoubtedly complicate her life.
The air in the room was thick with the stale scent of old coffee and paper, mixed with the faint leather perfume of chairs worn down by years of use. On the conference table, a handful of reports and documents lay stacked with precise symmetry. The cold glow of the fluorescent lights barely managed to ease the oppressive atmosphere of the place.
At the far end of the table, a man watched her with a stern expression. Tall and slender, with an elegance that betrayed his rank, Sir Reginald Whitmore looked as though he belonged to another era. His graying hair was perfectly slicked back, not a single strand out of place, and his dark gray suit was flawlessly pressed, without a single wrinkle.
In contrast to the imposing figure of her other superior who had called her earlier—Chief Commissioner Douglas Barker—Whitmore exuded a dangerous calm, like a predator analyzing the exact moment to strike.
The towering Barker shut the door behind her with a sharp thud, crossing his arms over his chest. His black suit seemed on the verge of bursting with every movement he made, and his perpetually angry face added extra weight to the already heavy atmosphere in the room.
Whitmore studied her for a few seconds before speaking.
— Kovka, we have an assignment for you.
Tina crossed her arms, already feeling the irritation pulse behind her temples.
— Another last-minute assignment? I'm working on an "assignment" right this very moment.
The older man gave a slight tilt of his head, as if her protest was irrelevant.
— This is a priority. There's an illegal gambling house operating in Mayfair. We know it's not just a betting site but a meeting point for all kinds of transactions, but we need an undercover agent to get inside—it's exclusive.
Tina arched an eyebrow.
— And what exactly do you expect me to do? Walk in with a flashlight and politely ask where they keep the financial records of their transactions?
Barker grunted from his position, his deep tone echoing through the room.
— Don't get smart, Kovka.
She shot him a sidelong glance before turning her attention back to Whitmore.
— We need evidence. Pictures, documents, anything that helps us prosecute the owner. He calls himself Oliver, but we know that's not his real name. He's never been arrested, never left a trace. We want that man and everything surrounding him.
Tina let her arms drop to her sides with an exasperated sigh.
— And what, do I look like I'd be a good undercover agent? I haven't done it in years—I did it when I was a minor, not now.
Whitmore barely smiled, though there was no trace of humor in his expression.
— But you're smart enough to find what we need.
She shook her head.
— I can't accept this. I have a life.
Barker's scoff was immediate. The massive man placed both hands on the table, leaning toward her with a stern expression.
— Don't make me laugh, Kovka.
She met his gaze coldly.
— I'm serious.
— You have no family, no personal connections. No one can threaten your loved ones if you don't have any. You're the most solitary detective in the department, and that makes you the perfect person for this job—you don't leak information.
Tina's jaw tightened, and for a moment, the silence in the room was as thick as the fog on the streets of London.
She knew he was right. Barker wasn't a man of subtlety, but he wasn't one to lie either. Since joining the department, she had kept her personal life to a minimum. She wasn't the kind of person who socialized beyond what was necessary, nor did she take the time to build relationships outside of work. Her colleagues respected her, sure, but there were no deep connections with any of them. She had no one to call on a lonely night, no one waiting for her to come home.
And right now, that was working against her.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm.
— How much time do I have?
Whitmore offered a faint smile.
— As much as you need. But tomorrow night, you go to the club. You have an apartment in Mayfair now, not far from the place. The clothes are in that apartment, along with your fake documents and money. Don't bring anything personal—you already know all of this.
Tina pressed her lips into a thin line and looked down at the table, where the documents waited. Deep down, she already knew she had no choice.
Kovka remained silent for a moment, her eyes locked onto the stack of documents on the table. She could still feel the gaze of her superiors on her, the thin patience of Whitmore and the oppressive presence of Barker, as if they were waiting for the slightest complaint just so they could throw the assignment back at her with twice the force.
She knew she had no choice. She never really did.
Slowly, she reached out and took the first report. The paper crinkled slightly between her fingers as she skimmed through it. Black-and-white surveillance photos where nothing was clearly visible, descriptions of suspicious movements, lists of names connected to the Mayfair location that, in the end, didn't really matter. Nothing she hadn't seen before in similar cases.
However, the lack of information about the owner of the business unsettled her. A ghost running an illegal empire. That was never a good sign.
With a heavy sigh, she closed the folder and gripped it tightly.
— Fine. I'll do it.
Whitmore inclined his head in satisfaction, as if her acceptance had been the only logical conclusion. Barker, on the other hand, scoffed with disinterest, unfolding his arms.
— Didn't expect anything less.
Tina gave them both one last look.
— If this costs me more hours of sleep, I want a raise.
The head detective let out a low chuckle, though without a trace of real amusement.
— When you finish the job, we'll discuss compensation.
She knew that meant never, but she hadn't expected any other answer.
With one last nod, she turned on her heels and walked out of the room, leaving the two men behind. Her steps echoed down the hallway as she moved forward, the folder held tightly against her side like a reminder of the mess that had just landed on her shoulders.
Her desk was exactly as she had left it. The board covered with photographs and reports, the cold coffee cups piled up in a corner, her open notebook filled with half-written notes. If she was going to take on this case, she couldn't leave any traces of her previous investigation unattended. She didn't trust anyone else to handle her work properly.
With an automatic motion, she pulled off her department-issued sweatshirt and let it fall onto her chair. She adjusted her T-shirt in an attempt to tidy up her appearance.
She started with the simplest task: stacking and organizing the documents into separate folders, making sure each case was properly archived. She pulled the photographs off the board, carefully folding the corners to prevent damage, and stored them in labeled envelopes. Her notebook was the last thing to be closed and locked away in the bottom drawer of her desk.
When she was done, she exhaled sharply, pressing her hands against the desk for a moment.
The weight of exhaustion was still there, clinging to her back like a persistent shadow. She knew this case wouldn't be easy. No undercover job ever was. She was diving into a network of illegal betting, where money flowed more easily than information, and where mistakes cost more than just a scolding from her superiors.
She was about to disappear for a while. It was best to make sure nothing was left out of place before leaving.
Tina Kovka's desk was clear. A miracle, considering the chaos she usually drowned in during her investigations. Now everything was filed away, stored, or locked up. Only the new case folder remained, resting at the center of the desk, waiting to be devoured by her analytical gaze.
She dropped into her chair, feeling the weight of accumulated exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders. Stretching her arms behind her head, she let out a sigh and finally opened the folder.
The first few pages were surveillance reports: descriptions of people entering and leaving the Mayfair establishment, luxury cars parked nearby, lists of suspicious bets with figures that bordered on the ridiculous. Nothing out of the ordinary for this type of business. However, between the lines, she could see the pattern: the same faces appeared too often, the same names repeated, the amounts were too precise. This wasn't just an illegal business—it was a perfectly calculated network.
She frowned and flipped to the next pages when a noise in the hallway pulled her from her concentration. Quick footsteps, almost impatient, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of crinkling packaging.
She didn't need to look to know who it was.
The intruder appeared at the door without knocking, as usual. Slim and of average height, wearing a gray hoodie and worn-out jeans, Niall Horan leaned against the doorway with an easy smile and a juice cup in one hand. His blond hair was messy, as if he had run his fingers through it multiple times in the past few hours, and his pale skin betrayed a lack of sunlight.
The fingers of his other hand held an open box of donuts.
— Are you caught up in a case you're not supposed to be involved in again?
Tina looked up with an impassive expression.
— Back again, sticking your nose in other people's business without leaving the safety of your screen?
The hacker let out a low chuckle and entered without waiting for an invitation. He walked over to her desk, nudging one of the nearby chairs with his foot, and plopped down into it with the same carelessness with which he breathed.
— It's not my fault if the information finds me first.
Tina tilted her head.
— Yeah, sure. Because it's totally normal for emails to leak on their own, for security systems to magically disable, and for bank records to pop up on your monitor.
Niall smiled with fake modesty and lifted the box of donuts.
— You're right, I'm a genius.
She rolled her eyes, but he had already taken one of the sugar-coated donuts and placed it on her desk.
— For you. Before you turn into a walking corpse.
Tina eyed the gift with some suspicion. Since they first met, Niall and she had maintained that ongoing competition of "who's more annoying."
— Since when are you charitable?
— Since I found out we're going to be stuck in the same case.
That caught her attention.
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk, and raised an eyebrow.
— So they pulled you into this too?
— Barker came to see me a little while ago. Apparently, they want me to track any digital movement from the betting house. Frequent bettors, suspicious transactions, connections to other businesses. The usual.
She nodded slowly, processing the information.
— So you track from your cave, and I do the dirty work on the street.
Niall made a nonchalant gesture.
— Like always, though this time you'll be able to talk to me every once in a while.
Tina took the donut without saying anything and took a bite. The sugar stuck to her lips, and the sweet taste mixed with the bitterness of the cold coffee still on the table.
The hacker looked at the folder in front of her and nodded toward it.
— Found anything interesting yet?
She swallowed and wiped the sugar off her fingers on her pants before answering.
— A lot of money moving in circles, names repeating too much, and an owner who doesn't exist in any records.
Niall clicked his tongue.
— Those are the best ones.
Tina took the folder and closed it with a sharp snap.
— This is going to be a nightmare.
The blonde smiled, resting his feet on the edge of her desk.
— Then it'll be fun.
Niall stayed a little longer, with his usual laid-back attitude, moving his feet over Tina's desk while checking his phone. He didn't need to say it out loud, but she knew he was already snooping through databases, looking for patterns, connections, any loose thread that could unravel the case before they even set foot on the ground.
She finished her donut in silence, flipping through the reports one more time, until her partner broke the quiet with a yawn.
— Well, as far as I'm concerned, I've got enough to get started.
The hacker lowered his feet to the floor and stood up with the same laziness with which he had arrived. He stretched his arms above his head, making his back crack, and grabbed the remainder of his coffee.
— I'll send you everything I find. But don't call me before ten in the morning, you know that late nights are sacred.
Tina looked at him with irony.
— And if I need you earlier?
— Then good luck with that.
He waved goodbye with a nonchalant gesture and left the office, leaving behind only the faint smell of coffee and sugar.
She waited a few seconds, making sure the door was closed, before standing up with a sigh.
There was nothing left tying her to the police department.
The night air of London was cool when she stepped out onto the street. Despite the time, traffic still slithered between the buildings, illuminating the asphalt with red and yellow lights.
Her apartment was a few blocks away, just enough to walk without trouble.
The soles of her boots echoed on the sidewalk as she moved through the sparse crowd. On every corner, anonymous faces passed without paying her any attention, some absorbed in their phones, others whispering in low voices. London was like that: a place full of noise, and yet, terribly lonely.
Tina turned down a less busy street, her steps now quieter, and within minutes reached the door of her building.
It was a modest apartment complex, comfortable enough for someone like her, who spent more time at the office than at home.
She took the key from her thigh holster and entered without hesitation.
The elevator was under maintenance, again, so she took the stairs. Upon reaching her door, she pushed it open with her shoulder and stepped into the familiar dimness.
Her home was a small but functional space. A living room with a black leather sofa, a low table stacked with papers, and a floor lamp that barely lit the room. In one corner, a small kitchen with just the necessary appliances. There wasn't much decoration; she had never been interested in making the place feel cozier.
The first thing she did was head to her bedroom closet.
If she was going to temporarily move to Mayfair, she needed to bring only the essentials.
With mechanical movements, she grabbed a canvas backpack and began to fill it. Clothes discreet enough to blend in, her folding knife, a blank notebook, a small flashlight, and a box of ammunition in case things went sideways.
She closed the backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and took one last look at her home. She didn't know how long she'd be gone.
She sighed and turned off the light.
The trip to Mayfair was quiet.
She took a taxi on one of the main avenues and sank into the back seat, watching the city lights flicker through the window. The driver didn't ask questions, and she had no intention of starting a conversation.
As the vehicle moved through the streets, Tina mentally reviewed what she knew about the case.
Mayfair wasn't just any neighborhood. It was one of the most exclusive areas in London, filled with luxury buildings, five-star hotels, and private clubs where the elite gathered away from the rest of the world's gaze. An illegal betting operation fit too well in that environment.
It wasn't some rundown dive bar. It wasn't a poorly lit basement where guys in leather jackets bet their paychecks on underground fights.
It was a well-oiled system, with powerful people pulling the strings.
And now, her mission was to dismantle it.
The taxi stopped on a quiet street, flanked by stone buildings with lit windows. Tina paid without saying a word and got out, immediately feeling the change in the atmosphere.
There was no noise here. Everything was neatly organized, from the cobblestones to the cars parked in perfect alignment.
She looked up at the building where she would be staying.
It was an apartment rented through the department, a discreet place, without unnecessary luxuries, but well-located enough to move around without raising suspicion.
She climbed the stairs, opened the door, and entered.
The space was almost empty. A gray sofa in the living room, a small kitchen, a bedroom with a single bed. Just enough to survive, but luxuriously decorated to avoid suspicion if anyone were to burst in.
She locked the door and set the backpack on the table.
She took a deep breath.
From now on, her life would revolve around this mission.
And, as much as she hated to admit it, there was something about the uncertainty of the case that made her heart race.
The apartment had the same impersonal coldness as a luxury hotel. Everything was functional, without personality or details that made it feel cozy but strangely expensive. Exactly what she expected from a temporary place.
She dropped her backpack on the small living room table and moved toward the bedroom. She pushed the door open and turned on the light.
The first thing she saw was the bed with immaculate white sheets, not a wrinkle in sight. A window with thick beige curtains and a dark wood dresser with a mirror above it. Everything seemed in order, except for a door on the side, slightly ajar.
She frowned and approached.
She pushed the door open carefully, and as the light from the bedroom illuminated the interior, she felt as though she had stepped into another world.
The room was completely different from the rest of the apartment.
The walls were covered with golden-toned wallpaper, and every corner was decorated with a luxury that took her by surprise. An open wardrobe revealed a collection of designer dresses, hung in perfect order, each more elegant than the last. Next to them, a row of high-heeled shoes, some with rhinestone details, others with shiny patent leather.
In one corner, a shiny wooden vanity was covered with an arsenal of makeup, brushes in glass jars, lipsticks in golden cases, perfume bottles with names she barely recognized.
Beyond that, a display case filled with jewelry.
Diamond necklaces, gemstone rings, delicate strap watches. All arranged as if it were a private boutique.
Then, on a marble table in the center of the room, stacks of cash carelessly piled. Pounds, euros, dollars. Cash, ready to be used.
Tina blinked a couple of times, processing what was in front of her.
She wasn't the type to be impressed by luxury, but this was something else.
A disguise.
A suit made of expensive fabrics and shiny adornments.
She had understood that she needed to blend in with Mayfair, but she hadn't expected them to give her an entire damn character to play.
She walked over to the display case and ran the tips of her fingers over the glass surface.
If this was part of the job, she would accept it.
She wasn't one to criticize women who enjoyed dressing up, but she had never had the time or interest to do it constantly. Except for her hair.
That was her only indulgence.
She had lost count of how many times she had changed her color in recent years, but now she had settled on a pure white, almost silver. She wore it long, down to her waist, with a sleekness that fell perfectly over her back.
Her eyebrows, the same shade, framed gray eyes that often seemed almost transparent under certain lights. Her skin, porcelain pale, gave her an ethereal air, as if she didn't quite belong to this world.
And perhaps she didn't.
She looked at herself in the vanity mirror, leaning slightly to examine her reflection.
With the right makeup, the proper attire, and the appropriate jewelry, she could become whoever she needed to be.
She sighed and picked up one of the soft-bristled brushes.
If she was going to dive into this role, she better do it well.
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postsofbabel · 1 year ago
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kraqsxx · 5 years ago
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artkovka-blog · 6 years ago
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sketchfab
(со страницы Model Lestnici 001 - 3D model by konstantin.mn (@konstantin.mn))
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444names · 2 years ago
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russian forenames and cities + roman place names BUT including "a"
Abaga Abagory Abain Abidny Abium Abnyak Aborov Aborsk Abriye Abury Abytki Acaea Acansk Accan Aceriae Adinsk Adynsk Afonnov Aforov Agacha Agadom Agaglia Agals Agalù Agari Agarioz Agasnom Agata Agavip Agilkov Aglensk Agnia Agnium Agrassk Agryari Alabria Alcae Alcan Alerna Aleya Alimol Alium Alizovo Allia Alovo Alsky Amysk Angrad Aninsk Anozavl Anskovo Antinsk Apionsk Aporin Apytki Aquinsk Arimir Ariysha Arkhov Arnovsk Arovka Arrinsk Artin Arurav Arvol Ashim Ashva Asinst Aslay Asnoly Asoch Asulov Ataysk Atorsk Ausull Avalum Avdaca Avdavil Avderta Avdima Avdimry Avdinsk Avdis Avdom Avena Avetsk Avichi Avigal Avinov Avinsk Avisk Avkalts Avladsk Avlexey Avlov Avlovo Avlyarg Avressk Avrov Avsky Avvalia Aznem Azyaria Babrsk Bakhov Bakhovo Bakopan Balavsk Balensk Balovo Barsk Battely Baysk Berkhva Binaid Blugola Boria Borra Bovdoma Bryusma Bugadan Burae Burmeia Burona Butsa Buzna Caeap Caeshli Caetsk Caevsk Camsk Camyzra Carkhny Catano Catom Chaysov Chevan Chirat Chkash Chnya Chnyan Chugay Chukha Chulan Chyoray Clansk Corla Dainka Dakha Dakir Dalek Dalen Dalogo Damyzhi Dandri Danta Dantim Dataria Dedae Deliba Dinairy Dionae Diyar Dmica Doreka Dubay Dudonna Dunya Duria Durna Ebaly Elnekha Ertary Fanov Fansk Fansta Furasno Gadan Gafim Galsk Gaplyan Gatka Gdalma Geliana Gepota Glipat Golka Gonogda Grair Gransk Grasim Graysk Gubakov Gudnya Gukhtia Gukhva Gulkali Ilinada Istasno Istia Ivalù Ivaysk Kacheka Kachi Kalum Kamuny Kamytin Karolsk Karom Karpuk Karsk Katal Katiant Katkada Katrod Kayevsk Khakhta Khana Kholyan Kinan Kiroma Klishan Komay Konia Kopasno Koradsk Kotsar Kovalsk Kovka Koyass Koyazhi Kozhna Krabdak Kranart Krashin Kunaz Kuray Kutna Lachiy Lakarae Lapyov Latavil Lavaye Lavia Lekana Lenka Lexansk Lgoza Lutansk Lyankal Lyaril Lyuza Madorsk Magarsk Maglish Magush Makhov Makhty Maksium Mamana Mamysk Mangert Mansk Marsk Mazhak Mentayk Mikoyan Minavsk Mosibak Murav Mysenka Mytansk Nadny Nadsk Naforsk Nakonia Namensk Nariv Natetsk Nazhi Nazim Nicat Noalaga Nogra Nomna Novarya Novoa Nyalya Nyaza Odina Okhayma Olzavy Opotkal Oshvar Osnorna Padim Panza Pasny Petan Petsay Petura Polman Polya Poria Prach Pramsk Priae Psenzha Pugana Pusha Pustada Pyary Pyazrae Pytva Rachi Rachin Ransk Ranton Rasinsk Rasno Reuta Rosta Rovia Ryard Rybna Ryuna Safimay Salavia Saldov Samen Sanov Santium Sargan Sarino Saroney Sarsk Sarsky Sartema Sebora Semyan Senadol Senapa Shakhov Shalan Shapasy Sharas Shcha Shkamur Shlia Shtya Sivarsk Slach Slatay Slyarim Snodan Soboyar Solan Solla Sosta Sreya Stansk Stinta Strenak Stronna Surae Suraza Surta Taben Talmsky Talsk Tamboga Tamedul Tantaye Tardar Taverna Tavla Tislavo Togorna Tomaga Torista Tovka Tropia Tsina Turadny Tvica Tyubia Ucharsk Udimar Ugacel Ukhari Ulluza Ulyukan Ushima Ustay Valadny Valae Vanarsk Vandya Vantis Varoks Vartsk Vayev Vaysk Vekara Veria Vetyan Vicia Vidoma Vikhano Virecha Vladima Vlakhi Vlyubak Voscia Voteria Vudalsk Vyara Vyazov Vyazy Vytka Yansk Yaran Yariysh Yatayl Yazinad Yazybny Yekach Yekarsk Yelaks Yestay Yevay Yevkali Yuzar Zameso Zanazh Zania Zaorkh Zavorsk Zheka Zhnya Zlyansk Znaes Zveleka Zvetlya
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sumki-13-blog · 6 years ago
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@kovka_rasul @kovka_rasul @kovka_rasul 🔥🔥🔥 #ковка #ковкамосква #художественнаяковка #москва #кованноеискуство #лестница #кованныеворота #перила #ворота #забор #мастерская #красотарядом #ручнаяработа #назаказ #артметалл #ironwork #kovka #dekor #arts #artisticforging #blacksmith #selebrity#ковкадагестан#ковкаизбербаш#ковкамахачкала (at Makhachkala) https://www.instagram.com/p/BvbofZYlHzF/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=thm43l88oho0
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yurok73rus · 8 years ago
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Готовим фотозону для съёмок коллекций @kovkasv . . . . #kovkasv #kovka #фотостудия #фотография #фотографыульяновска #ульяновск
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muchitwenty-eight · 2 months ago
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𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍´𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 │𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧
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▸ This part includes the story's warnings and a playlist to immerse yourself more in the atmosphere! Just to clarify: English is not my first language, sorry if there are any mistakes, I did my best!
"Sometimes, the worst hand in cards is the one that makes you play the entire game."
Tina Kovka thought that a simple infiltration job at an exclusive club would be just another move. But when Harry Styles, the enigmatic owner, deals her the cards, she realizes she's playing with more than just her life. The club is a betting board where the rules change with every move, and betrayals are hidden under a hand of luxury. In a world of mobsters, dirty bets, and dark secrets, Tina will soon realize that in this game, the only way to win is to risk it all.
Welcome to Dead Man’s Hand. Here, the neon lights hide shadows, money moves without questions, and the rules change with every bet. There are no good guys or bad guys, only players who know a bad hand can cost them their life.
I’m Muchi, the mind behind this story.
I warn you now: Dead Man’s Hand explores the darkest corners of power, desire, and betrayal. There are no guaranteed endings, only decisions that carry consequences.
This story contains:
Explicit violence and blood Uncensored sex and erotica Drug and alcohol use Arms trafficking and organized crime Strippers, nightclubs, and illegal gambling Strong language and complex moral dilemmas
This story is entirely original, and its content belongs to me. No adaptations, modifications, or translations are allowed without my permission.
If you enjoy Dead Man’s Hand, comment on it, share it, vote for it. Your support makes a difference. And if you want to promote it with edits, fanart, or videos, it will be more than welcome.
THE MUSIC IN DEAD MAN’S HAND
The club has its own language, and it's not just the knowing glances or the bills sliding across the table. It’s the music. The soundtrack of this place is a careful mix of luxury and danger, history and modernity.
Here, the sounds of the past haven’t disappeared; they’ve only changed their skin. Swing is still alive, elegant and seductive, but it has evolved, blending with electronic music to conceal what really happens behind the velvet curtains. Electro swing. A genre that, like this club, is a deception: it sounds refined, but hides something more.
To fully immerse yourself in Dead Man’s Hand, there’s a special playlist. These are the songs that play inside the club, the beats that mark the nights of betting and betrayal, the melodies that will be mentioned in the story. You can play it in the background while you read, because this story is felt, heard, and lived.
PLAYLIST:
Now, the bet is on the table. Will you play, or will you walk away before it’s too late?
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mebel-vjatka-blog · 8 years ago
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Благодаря пластичности металла из него создают фантастические формы. Кованые кровати дают простор для воображения художника. Необыкновенные цветы всевозможных размеров, листики, причудливые завитки превращают кровать в настоящее произведение искусства. Да, такая кованая мебель имеет большой вес, её неудобно транспортировать. Но зато потом, когда она займёт свое место, с ней не будет никаких хлопот. Кованые кровати гигиеничны, долговечны. Они станут украшением как взрослой спальни, так и детской комнаты. Приходите и выбирайте! #мебель #красиво #кованныекровати #мебельназаказ #ковкавинтерьере #ковка #кровать #люблюкрасивыевещи #люблюуютвдоме #люблюнемогу #люблюсвоюсемью #спальнаямебель #мебельдлядома #цветыизметалла #mebel #kirovmebel #kirov #komi #kovka #krovati (at Kirov, Kirovskaya Oblast', Russia)
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#tantiema #kyiv #ukraine #kovka #interior #artforging #metal #balusters #luxury #luxurygoods #vip #art #forging #popularphoto #stairrailings  #luxurylife #interiordesign #likes #businesstime #follow4follow  #балясины #ковка #роскошь #Тантьема #заказатькиев #интерьер #лестничноеограждение #заводковки #дорогобогато #кованыеэлементы
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heliophobique · 7 years ago
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🇦🇲 Armenian Nature Vocab 🇦🇲
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nature = բնություն (bënut’yun)
weather = եղանակ (yeghanak)
spring = գարուն (garun)
summer = ամառ (amarr)
autumn = աշուն (ashun)
winter = ձմեռ (dzëmerr)
north = հյուսիս (hyusis)
south = հարավ (harav)
east = արեւելք (aravelk’)
west = արեւմուտք (arevmutk’)
morning = առավոտ (arravot)
day = օր (ōr)
evening = երեկո (yereko)
night = գիշեր (gisher)
sun = արեւ (arev)
moon = լուսին (lusin)
earth, land = ցամաք (c’amak)
sky = երկինք  (yerkink’)
cloud = ամպ (amp)
mist = մշուշ (mëshush)
wind = քամի (k’ami)
rain = անձրեւ (andzrev)
snow = ձյուն (dzyun)
ice = սառույց (sarruyc’)
water = ջուր (jur)
river = գետ (get)
lake = լիճ (lich)
sea = ծով (cov)
fire = կրակ (kërak)
light = լույս (luys)
plant = բույս (buys)
flower, blossom = ծաղիկ (caghik)
fruit = պտուղ (pëtugh)
tree = ծառ (carr)
leaf = տերեւ (terev)
birch = կեչի (kech’i)
oak = կաղնի (kaghni)
maple = թխկի (t’ëkhki)
willow = ուռենի (urreni)
pine = ոճի (sochi)
wild cherry = կեռասենի (kerraseni)
animal = կենդանի (kendani)
mammal = կաթնասուն (kat’nasun)
bear = արջ (arj)
wolf = գայլ (gayl)
leopard = հովազ (hovaz)
tiger = վագր (vagër)
lion = առյուծ (arryuc)
porcupine = խոզուկ (khozuk)
otter = ջրասամույր (jërasamuyr)
hedgehog = ոզնի (vozni)
badger = գորշուկ (gorshuk)
bat = չղջիկ (ch’ëghjik)
deer = եղջերու (yeghjeru - stag), եղնիկ (yeghnik - doe)
horse = ձի (dzi)
mouflon = մուֆլոն (muflon)
bird = թռչուն (t’ërrch’un
golden eagle = քարարծիվ (k’ararciv)
vulture = անգղ (angëgh)
owl = բու (bu)
pelican = հավալուսն (havalusën)
swan = կարապ (karap)
flamingo = ֆլամինգո (flamingo)
heron = ձկնկուլ (dzëkënkul)
stork = արագիլ (aragil)
swallow = ծիծեռնակ (cicerrnak)
nightingale = սոխակ (sokhak)
hoopoe = հոպոպ (hopop)
gull = ճայ (chay)
reptile = սողուն (soghun)
snake = օձ (ōdz)
lizard = մողես (moghes)
fish = ձուկ (dzuk)
insect = միջատ (mijat)
forest = անտառ (antarr)
mountain = լեռ (lerr)
valley = ովիտ (hovit)
field = դաշտ (dasht)
plain = հարթավայր (hart’avayr)
desert = անապատ (anapat)
Caucasus = Կովկաս (Kovkas)
Armenian Highland = Հայկական լեռնաշխարհ (Haykakan lerrnashkharh)
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kraqsxx · 4 years ago
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zilantkovka-blog · 8 years ago
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Подсвечник  Зилант
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noisycupcakebarbarian · 4 years ago
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При этом меня поразила ловкость резчика - такое ощущение, что он рисовал по граниту, словно по бумаге. После того, как памятник делать закончили, опять подбирать машину для перевозки и рабочих, которые смогут все смонтировать, мне не довелось. Договор с фирмой предполагает комплекс работ под ключ: производство, транспортировку, монтаж и благоустройство. Так как организация осуществляет установку повсеместно, с выездом проблем не было. Во время приемки работ, никаких недостатков мне найти не удалось, хотя проверял достаточно тщательно. Действительно, компания #Карельский_Монумент вывела изготовление памятников на нов��ю ступень: здесь нет каких-либо скрытых платежей и переплат, все максимально прозрачно. Поговорить с представителями компании вы можете по почте , либо найти интернет-представительство, набрав в поисковой системе, к примеру: https://monument-rzn.ru/izdeliya-kovka-1/
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chetvertuy · 4 years ago
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При этом меня поразила ловкость резчика - такое ощущение, что он рисовал по граниту, словно по бумаге. После того, как памятник делать закончили, опять подбирать машину для перевозки и рабочих, которые смогут все смонтировать, мне не довелось. Договор с фирмой предполагает комплекс работ под ключ: производство, транспортировку, монтаж и благоустройство. Так как организация осуществляет установку повсеместно, с выездом проблем не было. Во время приемки работ, никаких недостатков мне найти не удалось, хотя проверял достаточно тщательно. Действительно, компания #Карельский_Монумент вывела изготовление памятников на новую ступень: здесь нет каких-либо скрытых платежей и переплат, все максимально прозрачно. Поговорить с представителями компании вы можете по почте , либо найти интернет-представительство, набрав в поисковой системе, к примеру: https://monument-rzn.ru/izdeliya-kovka-1/
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muchitwenty-eight · 2 months ago
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𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍´𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 │𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐
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The steam dissipated in the bathroom as Tina stepped out, drying her skin with a towel. The hot water had relaxed her body, but her mind remained sharp, calculating every detail.
She knew that to move undetected in the underground club, she had to blend in. She had spent hours researching, reviewing game strategies, and studying the people who frequented those kinds of places. Her experience in casinos wasn’t extensive, but she had one advantage: logic.
The way someone sits at a betting table says much more than they think. How many times they blink when they get a bad hand. Whether they drum their fingers on the table or grip their chips too tightly. How long it takes them to decide whether to double down or fold.
Everything could be calculated.
She had spent the previous night gathering all the information she could about the club she was about to enter. It wasn’t just an underground casino; it was an exclusive hub where the elite played with dirty money, where the shadiest deals were sealed with a smile and a handshake over a glass of expensive whiskey.
Every game of chance had patterns. Probabilities. And she had always been good at that.
She walked to the dressing room and opened the wardrobe doors, scanning the collection of dresses inside. Shimmering fabrics, elegant cuts, dark colors with metallic accents. Her fingers glided over the hangers until she found the right one: a black, form-fitting dress with thin straps and subtle sheer panels that revealed glimpses of skin in all the right places.
It wasn’t too flashy, but it had the perfect balance between sophistication and daring.
She slipped it over her body and looked at herself in the mirror. The fabric molded to her silhouette as if it had been made for her.
Now, the shoes.
She reached down and picked up a pair of stiletto heels with thin straps that wrapped around her ankles. They weren’t the most comfortable, but in a place like this, the confidence in your stride could be the difference between being prey or predator.
She sat in front of the vanity, letting the dim light catch the silver reflections in her hair. She loosened the braids she had prepared earlier, letting soft waves cascade down her back.
The makeup had to be subtle yet effective.
No excess.
She applied a coat of mascara to her lashes, making her eyes stand out with depth. A soft shimmer on her eyelids and a touch of highlighter on her cheekbones—just enough to catch the light at the right moments. On her lips, a nude shade with a slight satin finish.
She completed the look with a pair of silver earrings that matched the elegance of the dress.
She took one last look in the mirror.
She no longer looked like Detective Kovka.
She was someone else.
Sighing, she grabbed her purse. Inside, only the essentials: cash, a fake ID, a security key, and a pen that concealed a thin blade inside—one that also contained a microphone. Niall needed to hear what was happening inside.
With a soft click, she locked the door to her apartment and stepped into the night.
It was time to play.
The taxi she hailed slid through the streets of Mayfair with an almost unnatural smoothness, as if gliding over the asphalt still slick from the recent drizzle. Through the window, the city lights flickered like stars distorted by neon and modernity.
Tina settled into the back seat, crossing one leg over the other. The black fabric of her dress stretched slightly, accentuating the curve of her thigh. Her fingers drummed lightly against her purse, matching the steady rhythm of her measured breaths.
She knew she was about to step into a world where luck was nothing but an illusion.
The car slowed to a seamless stop in front of an unassuming building—no signs, no advertisements. Just a dark door, flanked by two massive guards, with a faint line of neon light marking the entrance.
The driver said nothing. Neither did she. She stepped out with the same confidence she would have walking into a business meeting, letting her heels click sharply against the pavement.
These doors didn’t open for just anyone.
Dead Man’s Hand wasn’t just any casino. It was an exclusive club where dirty money was laundered through high-stakes bets, where London’s biggest players rubbed shoulders with criminals in expensive suits and women who could be just as dangerous as they were beautiful.
She approached the guards with the unshaken composure of someone who belonged there.
One of the men, bald-headed and dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, gave her a slow, scrutinizing once-over before narrowing his eyes slightly.
—Name —he growled, his voice low and firm.
Tina pulled a small golden card from her purse and slid it between the guard’s fingers.
He turned it over, examined the details, then gave her a barely perceptible smile.
Without another word, he nodded, and the door opened with a soft click.
The first impact was visual.
Neon lights in shades of pink, blue, and violet reflected off the black glossy walls and floors, creating a hypnotic atmosphere. The ceiling was high, adorned with geometric chandeliers that cast shifting shadows.
And then, the sound.
As soon as she crossed the threshold, a live band began playing with perfect precision. The pulse of Lone Digger filled the space with electric energy, and at the center of the stage, a dark-skinned singer with crimson lips and a sequined dress delivered the melody with a voice that sent a current of electricity through the air.
Tina couldn’t help but notice how every gaze in the room drifted toward the woman. Her presence was magnetic—the way she moved, the seductive curl of her lips as she sang each word.
All around, the gambling tables were in full swing.
Roulette wheels spun with silver flashes, cards slid effortlessly between expert fingers, and chips stacked into precarious towers. Elegantly dressed men and women laughed, feigned concern, and wagered obscene amounts of money as if they were playing with scraps of paper instead of real wealth.
On the sides, a bar with backlit bottles of liquor served cocktails that looked more like works of art than drinks. And beyond, in the dim corners of the VIP section, shadowed figures engaged in hushed conversations, sealing deals that would never reach the ears of the police.
Tina took a deep breath.
It was a perfectly balanced ecosystem—luxury and corruption, seamlessly intertwined.
And she was standing right at its center.
With the same calmness with which she had entered, she moved through the crowd.
Tonight, she wasn’t a detective.
She was just another player.
The air inside the club was thick, heavy with smoke, expensive perfume, and the silent tension that only existed in places where money changed hands in mere seconds.
Tina moved through the crowd with the confidence of someone who had already won without even playing. There was no nervousness in her expression, only the cold glint of a well-calculated strategy.
The regular players watched her as she passed. Some with interest, others with mild suspicion. No one came to Dead Man’s Hand without a purpose.
She stopped in front of one of the busiest poker tables. The dealer, a man with slender hands and a perfectly pressed suit, shuffled the cards with hypnotic skill. Around the table sat five men and one woman, all dressed as if money had never been a concern.
But she had something none of them did:
More money and more intelligence.
She took a seat as naturally as someone having their morning coffee. Pulling out a stack of bills, she placed it on the table with a measured gesture.
Eyes turned to her.
The man to her left, a businessman with gold rings on every finger, raised an eyebrow. The woman at the far end, lips painted blood-red, looked her up and down with an amused smile.
The dealer dealt the cards.
Tina received her first two: a ten of clubs and an ace of hearts. Good, but not unbeatable.
The first to act, a man in a gray suit with a Rolex that seemed to gleam under the club’s lights, placed a moderate opening bet.
The next player, a blond man with a square jaw, called without hesitation.
When it was Tina’s turn, she merely tapped the table and raised the bet slightly. Not too much—just enough to start setting the pace of the game.
The dealer turned over the first three community cards:
— King of clubs.
— Queen of clubs.
— Ten of hearts.
An interesting flop. She had a pair of tens, but more importantly, the possibility of a straight was already in play.
The other players knew it too.
The man with the Rolex placed a strong bet. The blond hesitated for a moment before calling.
Tina let two seconds pass. No more.
Then, with a slight flick of her wrist, she matched the bet.
The dealer turned the fourth card.
A jack of clubs.
Now things were getting serious.
There was a possible flush, but more importantly, she was one card away from hitting a royal flush—the most powerful hand in poker.
The man with the Rolex bet again, this time doubling his previous wager.
The blond pursed his lips, glanced at his chips, and hesitated. Then he called.
Tina played with one of her chips between her fingers, as if considering her options. But in her mind, she already knew exactly what to do.
If one of them already had a flush in clubs, she could be in trouble. But judging by the way they were betting, it seemed more likely that they had a straight or two pairs.
She called.
The dealer revealed the fifth and final card.
An ace of clubs.
Tina held her breath for just a second. Then, she allowed a small smile to form on her lips.
She had just hit a royal flush in clubs.
The perfect hand.
The man with the Rolex didn’t hesitate—he went all in instantly. He had something strong, no doubt.
The blond shifted in his seat, undecided. Finally, he clenched his jaw and pushed all his chips forward too.
All eyes turned to Tina.
She let the silence stretch, as if weighing her decision.
Then, with a slow and calculated movement, she pushed her mountain of chips to the center of the table.
—All in.
The dealer instructed everyone to reveal their hands.
The man with the Rolex had a flush in clubs, his highest card an eight.
The blond had a king-to-nine straight.
None of it was enough.
When Tina revealed her royal flush, the entire table fell silent.
Then, an explosion of reactions.
She had won.
Everything.
The mountain of chips and cash in front of her was obscene.
People started clapping, murmuring. Some looked at her in disbelief, others with a dangerous kind of admiration.
She wasn’t looking for recognition.
She was looking for something else.
And if she wanted to attract the attention of this place’s owner, she had just succeeded.
The murmur of the crowd still lingered in the air as she leaned back against her chair. In front of her, a pile of chips and bills she had just snatched with an impeccable royal flush. The other players still wore expressions that wavered between disbelief and resignation, while some of the spectators continued to discuss the game with excitement.
Tina barely listened. She only felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the echo of her own analysis replaying in her mind like a perfectly executed chess move.
She was exactly where she wanted to be.
—What now?— The voice came from her right, deep, unhurried, with a hint of amusement.
When she turned her head, she saw him.
Leaning casually against the table, a man watched her with a curious air and a half-smile that seemed sculpted with surgical precision. He wasn’t like the others around her, with their blatant greed or their fake smiles.
He radiated an almost lazy confidence, as if he was used to being the center of attention without even trying.
Dark, wavy hair falling strategically over his forehead, green eyes with a sharp glint that seemed to take in every movement without missing a detail. A defined jawline and the faint outline of tattoos visible through his shirt—on purpose.
He dressed with an elegance that seemed effortless, but was anything but improvised. A dark blazer with velvet details, a white shirt unbuttoned just enough at the collar to hint at his torso beneath the fabric, and fitted trousers that accentuated the relaxed sophistication that surrounded him.
Most men in that club tried too hard to look powerful.
He didn’t have to.
—Excuse me?— Tina narrowed her eyes, pretending not to understand what he meant.
He gestured slightly toward the table, where the stacks of chips still stood, precariously close to toppling over.
—That was an interesting play.— His fingers drummed lightly on the table. —A royal flush. Pretty impressive.
She noticed that he spoke with the kind of tone used by people who rarely found themselves surprised, as if he were merely entertained by the situation.
—It was.
—And a bold bet.
—Betting when you have the winning hand isn’t bold, it’s logical.
He smiled, as if her answer amused him.
—So it’s all about logic for you?
Tina tilted her head slightly, watching him with the same interest she would use to analyze a pattern in an opponent’s behavior.
—Logic rarely fails. People do.
He let out a low chuckle, with an expression that suggested he had heard many interesting responses in his life, but that one had genuinely intrigued him.
—I like the way you think. But you still haven’t told me what you’re going to do with your little fortune.
She raised an eyebrow, as if she didn’t understand what he was referring to.
He clicked his tongue in amusement and pointed at the chips.
—Don’t tell me you don’t know how much you just won.
—I haven’t counted.
—Then let me tell you.— He leaned slightly over the table, his eyes gleaming with a spark of mischief. —Seven million three hundred fifty-six thousand pounds.
Tina blinked. Not because she was surprised, but because the number sounded ridiculous even in her own mind. She knew it had been a big win, but putting such a precise figure to it made it even more striking.
The stranger, who called himself Oliver, watched her with an amused expression, as if waiting to see her reaction.
But she didn’t give him the satisfaction.
Instead, she picked up a random chip, spun it between her fingers, and then let it drop onto the pile with absolute calm.
—Then, I suppose it’s going to be a good night.
Her companion laughed, tilting his head in approval.
—Definitely. And I think someone here has just become the most interesting person in the room.
The way he said it didn’t sound like an empty compliment. More like a warning disguised as flattery.
And Tina didn’t need to be told twice.
Because she knew that in a place like this, attention could be both an advantage and a danger.
But that was the point, wasn’t it?
Just as she had planned.
The murmurs around her were a distant echo, a meaningless background noise as she carefully observed her interlocutor.
He still had that half-smile on his face, as if everything happening around him was part of a show staged solely for his entertainment. He straightened slightly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his velvet blazer while his jade-green eyes studied her with evident curiosity.
—We’ve talked about games, logic, and bets, but I still don’t know who I have the pleasure of speaking with.
Tina didn’t blink.
She knew that question would come sooner or later, and the truth was, she had no reason to lie. Thanks to her contact in the department, Niall, there wasn’t a single record linking her to the police. Not in databases, not in security systems.
For all intents and purposes, she was just another civilian, with no ties to the law or any special force.
She took a deep breath, savoring for an instant the sense of freedom that anonymity gave her.
—Tina Kovka.
He tilted his head slightly, as if testing her name in his mind, evaluating it, searching for meaning. Then, after a brief pause, he nodded in approval.
—A strong name. I like it.
She didn’t respond. She simply crossed her legs calmly, letting the neon lights highlight the gleam of the rings on her fingers, part of the luxurious disguise she had assumed to blend into this place.
He watched her in silence for a moment longer before resting his forearm on the back of his chair, turning slightly toward her.
—My name is Oliver.
Of course it wasn’t.
Tina knew perfectly well that wasn’t his real name. Not just because her instincts screamed it at her, but because a place like Dead Man’s Hand didn’t operate with real identities. Everything here was designed to be a spectacle, a game of appearances where no one was exactly who they claimed to be.
—A pleasure, Oliver.
Her voice was measured, just enough to sound polite, yet carrying that sharp edge of indifference that kept anyone from prying too much into her life.
—So, tell me, Kovka. — He leaned his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand, wearing that relaxed expression of someone who was always one step ahead. — What brings you here?
The question lingered in the air for a moment.
It was simple, direct, but laced with hidden intentions.
Tina didn’t take long to find the perfect answer.
—I'm good at games.
He raised an eyebrow.
—That much I’ve noticed.
—But not just any games. — She lifted the chip in her hand, spinning it skillfully between her fingers. — Strategy games. Analytical games. Games of probability.
He studied her closely, intrigued by every word.
—And you needed a place that matched your skill.
It wasn’t a question.
It was a statement.
Tina smirked.
—Exactly.
For an instant, the man who called himself Oliver watched her with an intensity she had rarely felt in anyone. As if he were evaluating her words, measuring every expression on her face, searching for any hint of a lie.
But he wouldn’t find anything.
She was telling the truth.
Not all of it, of course, but enough not to raise suspicion.
—Interesting. — He let out a quiet chuckle, settling more comfortably into his chair. — Not every day someone with your level of confidence and… skill shows up.
Tina merely shrugged with false modesty.
—I just do what I do best.
The green eyes in front of her gleamed with something she couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t exactly distrust, but it wasn’t complete acceptance either. It was a mixture of fascination and analysis, as if he, too, was playing his own game, trying to decide how much of what she was saying he should believe.
—In that case, I hope to see you around more often.
He didn’t say it as an invitation.
He said it as a fact. As if he were absolutely certain she would return.
And the truth was, he wasn’t wrong.
The air in Dead Man’s Hand was charged with electricity, that particular energy that only existed in places where people gambled more than just money. Between the neon lights and the sound of chips sliding across the felt, tension hung in the air like expensive perfume.
Sitting at the same table, both of them continued analyzing each other with every word, every movement.
The man who called himself Oliver maintained that carefree expression, his body leaned back against the chair, and that half-smile that never completely faded. He looked comfortable, but Tina knew nothing about his body language was accidental.
He was someone who measured everything.
Since the way he looked at her to the way he modulated his voice, everything about him seemed perfectly rehearsed. But she wasn't a rookie player.
If he was analyzing her, she was doing the same.
They were both waiting for the other's move, as if they were in a silent game of chess, where any gesture could be the key to gaining an advantage.
He slid a finger along the edge of his glass, still keeping his gaze fixed on her.
— You still haven’t told me what your best move tonight was, I don’t know how long you’ve been around here.
Tina tilted her head slightly to adjust her long hair.
— Winning all those pounds in one hand seems like a good start.
Oliver chuckled softly.
— For some, that’s an amount they could live off for a year.
— For others, it’s just the price of a watch.
He looked at her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
— And where do you fall?
Tina took a second before answering.
— In the category of people who only play to win.
The silence that followed was interrupted by the arrival of someone else.
A tall, elegant figure appeared beside Oliver.
His golden skin gleamed under the club's lights, and his black outfit contrasted with the violet glow of the surroundings. His hair was perfectly slicked back, but a strand fell over his forehead, revealing sharp features and an intense gaze.
He leaned slightly over Oliver, just enough to whisper something in his ear.
Tina couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she saw how the expression on Oliver’s face shifted slightly. It wasn’t a dramatic change, but rather a subtle tension in his jawline, as if the information he had just received deserved his full attention.
However, Oliver didn’t take his eyes off her.
He seemed to be debating between two matters until he finally gestured with his hand.
— Don’t be rude, introduce yourself to my new companion.
The newcomer shifted his gaze to Tina, sizing her up with precision.
There was no hostility in his expression, but there was a careful evaluation, as if he was trying to figure out who she was and how important she could be.
Then, he extended his hand.
— Zayn Malik.
Here’s the translation:
His tone was firm, without hesitation.
Tina shook his hand with the same confidence.
— Tina Kovka.
There was a silent moment of recognition between them, as if they both knew that, although they had just met, their paths were about to intertwine in a way neither could foresee.
The tension hung in the air like the smoke from the expensive cigars some players lit in the corners of the club. Tina noticed it immediately.
The man with the mischievous smile, who had until that moment only been a spectator of her game, made a decision.
With a casual gesture, he raised his hand, and within a minute, one of the club employees appeared beside them, impeccably dressed in a black suit.
Oliver didn’t rush to speak.
First, he leaned back in his seat, tilting his head slightly toward Tina, as if savoring the moment.
Then, with calculated calm, he spoke a few words to the employee.
Zayn immediately looked at him.
The disbelief on his face was evident, and Tina noticed the subtle movement of his jaw tightening. Unlike the man beside her, Malik had no filter. His emotions were reflected in every reaction, every expression.
He didn’t need to say anything for his confusion to be clear.
But Oliver didn’t stop.
With a slight nod, he signaled the dealer to close the game.
— I think tonight we should play somewhere quieter.
His tone was light, as if it didn’t matter, but Tina knew immediately it was something else.
A test.
It was clear he was testing her.
Everything in that club had a purpose, and every move that man made had a meaning behind it. He wasn’t the type of person who acted without reason.
The question was: what did he expect to see in her?
From his seat, Zayn let out a humorless laugh.
— Seriously?
He didn’t bother hiding his skepticism.
Tina glanced at him sideways.
If there was anyone in that group who said exactly what they thought without filters, it was him.
The golden-skinned man dropped his back against the backrest of his seat and crossed his arms, shaking his head in a mix of annoyance and amusement.
— Just because it's your money doesn’t mean you can waste time with just anyone.
Oliver smiled slyly, completely ignoring the comment.
With a wave of his hand, he invited Tina to stand.
— Come.
She took her time.
Not because she doubted, but because she didn’t like moving at someone else’s pace.
She stood calmly, feeling the eyes of several people land on her.
She had won an absurd sum of money in an absurd amount of time, and now, the most influential man in the club was inviting her to an exclusive area.
Everyone was watching her.
Perfect.
She wanted the attention.
It was part of the plan.
Without saying another word, Tina walked behind Oliver, while Zayn followed them with narrowed eyes, as if he were seeing something he didn’t quite like.
The entrance to the VIP area was as unexpected as it was imposing. As they crossed the door to what seemed like a hidden hallway, the noise of the club immediately faded, as if the space were absorbed by a layer of soundproofing. Everything there was on a completely different level than the rest of the place.
The lights shone with a dimmer but equally vibrant intensity. Purple and red lights reflected off surfaces of polished black glass, creating an atmosphere that felt more like a modern temple of hedonism. The air was heavy with the fragrance of expensive perfumes and a mix of alcohol and smoke, while the voices intermingled, creating a soft vibration that ran through the entire space.
At the back, the walls were adorned with a series of screens showing scenes of the best games, bets, and the smiling faces of those at the top of the hierarchy. The people there didn’t just have money; they had power, a different kind of influence. From the sleek black chairs, some in leather, emerged familiar figures: politicians, businessmen, and other personalities that Tina felt were completely foreign to her world.
And, of course, there was the other side.
In one corner, an elevated dance floor, surrounded by flashing lights, featured a couple of dancers. They weren’t just strippers; their bodies traced the shadows with studied grace, as if their presence wasn’t just a show, but a statement. The aesthetics were clearly part of the ambiance, a perfect blend of luxury and decadence that marked the difference between those on the surface and those who truly ruled this universe.
Oliver moved confidently, knowing exactly how to navigate these circles. Every gesture he made seemed deliberate. He glanced at Tina, almost expecting some kind of reaction, but she remained calm. She had learned to adapt to every environment, to read non-verbal cues, and in that moment, she knew what he was expecting was more than surprise or awe. He wanted her to play her own part in this scene.
Tina didn’t let herself be swayed by the showiness of the place. Her eyes scanned the tables, observed the people, and analyzed every corner of the room. There was something fascinating about the way Oliver watched her, as if he was assessing something much deeper than her poker skills.
Finally, when they reached the center of the VIP area, Oliver stopped by a round table with a couple of empty chairs. Without a word, he dropped into one, his body completely relaxed, though his eyes never stopped scanning his surroundings.
Zayn, who had been silent until then, leaned back in his chair, watching the two of them with a crooked smile.
— I don’t like to play, that’s well-known —Zayn said, his tone sincere, but amused at the same time—. I’d rather be the one dealing the cards, not the one risking the money.
Oliver didn’t seem surprised, but a slight smile appeared on his lips. It was as if he had already anticipated it.
— That explains a lot —he replied in a relaxed tone—. But even you have to admit there’s something fascinating about watching others risk it all.
Zayn leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms nonchalantly.
— Sure, it’s entertaining to watch others ruin their lives while you’re just the spectator. Though, I don’t think it’s as fun when money becomes the least of your worries and people start playing with real power. That’s when things get interesting.
Tina looked at him, a little surprised by the honesty of his words. She knew Zayn had no filter, but she hadn’t expected him to be so blunt.
— That doesn’t sound so bad —she said, intrigued—. The real game begins when you’re not just risking your chips, but your influence. And here, in this place, I think everyone plays that card.
Zayn smiled again, appreciating her response, but his gaze shifted toward Oliver for a moment.
— And you, my friend, how do you play in this game? —Zayn asked, referring to the VIP room and the circle they were in.
Oliver didn’t respond immediately, keeping his gaze fixed on Tina, as if he were evaluating her once again.
— I play by the rules of the place, of course. But I know exactly how to adapt to them. And in this room, what matters is not just the money. It’s who holds it and what they do with it.
Zayn couldn’t help but chuckle.
— Wow, looks like someone’s looking for more than just a poker game.
Tina looked at both of them, feeling the conversation had taken an interesting turn. She realized that, even though she wasn’t a regular player in these kinds of scenarios, there was something about the atmosphere that excited her in a strange way. This conversation, the dynamic between them, was a game in itself.
Oliver leaned back in his chair, relaxed, as if enjoying the role he was playing.
— This place has many layers, Tina. And I invited you to this table because I think you have what it takes to understand them.
Zayn raised an eyebrow but said nothing more, merely observing Tina with curiosity. The answer to that invitation was in her hands.
Kovka instantly understood that they had known each other for years, it was obvious by the way they asked each other questions that were clearly already answered beforehand.
The atmosphere in the VIP section of Dead Man's Hand, which up until that moment had been a game of glances and words between Oliver and Tina, suddenly shifted. A commotion from one of the back tables interrupted the conversation. The bright lights of the room seemed to dim in response to the sudden violence that erupted in the place.
From the table, the sound of a deep voice, mixed with a muffled scream, filtered into the air. A burly politician, with a ruddy face and a sweaty brow, was holding onto one of the dancers tightly. She struggled to free herself from his grip, but the man, repulsive and drunk, kept her trapped with his hand on her neck. The stripper, a woman with dark skin and desperate eyes, tried to scream, but her voice was muffled between the man’s fingers, which pressed her against his chest.
Tension built in the air like a storm on the verge of exploding.
Zayn, who had been silently observing the scene until that moment, jumped to his feet. His face, usually relaxed, twisted into an expression of fury. Without thinking twice, he shouted toward the table where the politician and the woman were struggling.
— Let her go, you son of a bitch! —his voice echoed in the air, full of authority and rage.
The politician, startled by the interruption, turned his head toward Zayn, his face contorted with anger and fear. In that instant, his expression shifted, and with a crude, forced laugh, he shouted toward the table.
— Harry Styles! It’s you, isn’t it?! I never thought you’d be this bold! —his voice rang with malice, attempting to reveal something beyond the rage of the moment, completely ignoring Zayn as he fixed his gaze on the man with green eyes.
The sound of the name “Styles” hung in the air, and Tina, still seated, watched in confusion as the events unfolded. The mention of Oliver’s name —or Harry, as the man now called him— made it clear that he had discovered his real name.
Harry Styles.
The politician, continuing with his rambling speech about losing money in some mafia deal or transaction, Tina didn’t really understand any of what he was saying.
He brought his face even closer to the stripper, pressing her harder against his body, and his screams grew more terrifying. The lights in the room seemed to flicker in sync with the agitation at the table.
In that instant, Harry, whose calm had been the norm until now, slowly stood up. It wasn’t an impulsive reaction but a calculated one. He moved with the precision of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. His eyes, focused and cold, glanced at Tina for a moment, as if silently asking for permission to act.
Then, with total skill, his hands slid a small object from under his jacket.
The metallic sound of the weapon being drawn was the only thing that sliced through the tension in the room, like a knife cutting through the air. Tina watched as Oliver’s—no, Harry’s—hand firmly gripped a silver revolver. The gleam of the barrel reflected the neon lights, illuminating his face with an intensity that gave him an almost predatory air. The murmurs and laughter in the room stopped instantly, as if the very atmosphere had frozen.
— Let her go, now. —The command left Harry’s lips with a voice that brooked no argument. Every word he spoke carried the weight of threat and decision. The atmosphere was now a crucible of pure tension.
The politician, who had up until then ignored Harry’s presence, didn’t stop and managed to continue choking the poor girl, who was just doing her job. Harry’s gaze was laser-focused on him, fierce and penetrating, while the man began to wobble, his grin widening.
In one swift motion, the politician let go of the stripper’s body, dropping her to the ground without mercy while he laughed grotesquely.
But Harry didn’t flinch. His gaze never wavered from the politician. He simply pulled the trigger.
The entire room stood still, the others appearing slightly accustomed to such a sight, but for Tina, the situation was entirely tense.
— Never touch her again —Harry said, his tone deep and authoritative, keeping the gun in his hand.
The normality in the VIP section of Dead Man’s Hand had been nothing more than an illusion, a veil that was easily torn when blood touched the ground. Though it appeared that the conflict was over, the reality was much darker.
The politician had not left the room alive, clearly.
The moment Harry had drawn the weapon had not been a warning. It had been an execution.
The shot had been clean, fast, precise. As soon as the man released the stripper, the bullet went through his head before he could even take two steps backward. His massive body fell heavily to the side, his dark blood soaking into the luxurious carpet in mere seconds. But the truly tragic part wasn’t his death. It was the woman he had stolen from life before she could be saved.
When the politician’s body hit the ground, his weight collapsed the stripper’s lifeless corpse, which no one had noticed was already dead. Her throat was bruised, marked by the thick fingers of the man who had strangled her in his rage. Her eyes, once filled with fear, now stared unseeing, frozen in an expression of horror.
Zayn was the first to react, rushing to where the bodies lay. His jaw tightened as he leaned down to check the woman’s pulse, as if there was still a sliver of hope that she had somehow survived. But his expression hardened even more as he confirmed the inevitable.
The croupier slowly rose, turning his face toward his boss with a furrowed brow.
— Do you know what you just did?
Harry, still holding the gun, didn’t take his eyes off the disaster. His gaze reflected neither regret nor doubt, only cold determination.
— What I had to do.
Zayn let out a dry, incredulous laugh.
— This guy was here to close a deal. He was from the other side, but we needed him. Do you know how much it’s going to cost to get things back in balance? Damn it, Harry, I just whispered it to you.
The owner of the place calmly holstered his weapon, running a hand through his hair as if rearranging his thoughts.
— He was a problem. I wasn’t going to negotiate with a bastard like him.
Zayn clicked his tongue, crossing his arms.
— We could have used him.
Harry turned toward him with a look that made it clear he had no patience for more discussion.
— You told me he was going to be a problem before he even arrived. He was. Now it’s taken care of.
Tina watched the scene without intervening. She knew she was caught up in something much bigger than she had anticipated. This wasn’t just some underground casino, this was a game of power where life and death were mere chips on the table. She knew there was more, obviously.
But this was bigger, it was a mafia.
And Harry was clearly the one who owned it all.
Harry waved his hand, and instantly, two club employees emerged from the shadows. Both were dressed in dark, impeccable suits, with seriousness etched on their faces. This wasn’t the first time they had done this.
— Take him —the owner of the place ordered, nodding toward the politician’s body—. Leave no trace.
The men nodded immediately and, with almost mechanical precision, began to lift the corpse with efficiency.
— And the girl? —Zayn asked, though he already knew the answer.
Harry’s gaze shifted to the fallen woman. His lips curled into a tight line before he spoke.
— Handle her carefully. Make sure her family gets her body. I’ll take care of the funeral.
The employees exchanged quick glances before nodding. They didn’t ask questions. They simply did what they had to do.
As the bodies were removed, Harry turned toward Tina. There was no doubt in his eyes when he looked at her, as if he was waiting to read some reaction on her face. But she kept her expression neutral; she wasn’t going to show any weakness in a place like this.
Zayn sighed, rubbing his face before shaking his head.
— This night is going to bring consequences.
Harry didn’t even blink.
— Let them come.
Aquí tienes la traducción al inglés de lo que me enviaste:
What was once a refuge for pleasure and ostentation was now infused with a latent tension, as if everyone knew death had knocked on the door, but no one dared to acknowledge it aloud.
Tina, still sitting with an untouched drink between her fingers, watched as the staff carefully removed the dancer’s body, far more gently than they had treated the politician’s. That didn’t escape her attention.
She waited until the men had disappeared with both bodies before turning to the owner of the place, who was now serving himself a drink as if nothing had happened.
— Why do you do this for her?
Harry, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off his glass, raised an eyebrow slightly.
— What do you mean?
— Most prostitutes don’t have families or anyone to claim them. Many don’t even care about dying.
The man put his glass down on the table without drinking and fixed his gaze on her. Tina held her neutral expression, but he observed her carefully. It was then that he realized something he hadn’t noticed before: her expression wasn’t one of shock from the violence, but one of someone who still hadn’t fully accepted where she was.
He tilted his head and smiled with disbelief.
— My God, do you think I’m a monster? I don’t have prostitutes, I try to help them.
She didn’t respond. Not because she believed he was one, but because she didn’t have proof to the contrary.
He let out a dry laugh before leaning back in his chair.
— She wasn’t a prostitute. She was a regular dancer. Her name was Li-Han.
Tina didn’t look away, but her fingers tightened slightly around the glass.
— How do you know that?
Harry ran a finger around the edge of his glass, thoughtful.
— Because I knew her story. She was the only child of a Japanese family that emigrated to England years ago. She worked here to save money to return home.
A strange knot formed in Tina’s stomach. Maybe she had seen lives snuffed out like this before, but something in the way the owner of the casino spoke about the dancer was unexpected to her.
— And now what?
— Now I make sure she gets back to her family.
Tina fell silent for a few seconds, processing what she had just heard. She leaned a little toward him, squinting her eyes.
— You don’t seem like the type of person who cares about these things, you really have empathy to be a boss.
Harry raised an eyebrow, amused.
— And you don’t seem like the type of person who asks questions she doesn’t want to answer herself.
She pressed her lips into a smile.
— Did I touch a nerve?
— It’s clear you have a talent for that.
The exchange hung in the air between them. The music in the VIP room had risen again, but they remained still, as if they were in a space separate from everything else going on around them.
Tina knew she was playing with fire. But at that moment, the only thing she could do was play along.
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