Chapter 4: Strategy
The moment Dirga ended the vision, the cold atmosphere of the room returned. The walls of vintage art and polished steel surrounded him once more, along with the man across the table—Domiscus Vantasio.
"Anything wrong with you, Dirga?" Domiscus asked, his gaze sharp but curious.
"Ahh... I was just mesmerized by your collection, Mr. Vantasio," Dirga replied quickly, flashing a polite smile as he removed his mask and took the seat opposite the billionaire.
"Oh? A young boy, is it?" Domiscus leaned back, swirling the blood-red wine in his glass. "Interesting. Most young men who win the lottery blow it on women, drugs, booze, or whatever else dulls their empty lives."
Dirga didn’t flinch. "I suppose I’m not most young men."
Domiscus gave a smirk, then clapped his hands. A waitress in a rat mask entered, placing a plate before Dirga. The scent was exquisite—fine seared meat, garnished greens, and sauces likely sourced from corners of the world Dirga couldn’t yet pronounce.
"Let’s eat first before we get into business. If you have any special requests, speak freely," Domiscus said.
Dirga nodded and began eating, careful to mind his etiquette. He had never experienced a three-course meal before, much less with this many types of utensils. It was a quiet, tense exercise in mimicry and control. As he chewed, his mind raced.
How do you tempt a man who already owns everything?
Money? Useless. Women? Countless. Power? He’s already feared.
Dirga would need something unique—something that could not be bought. Something deeply personal.