Molten Chocolate: Book Two

By A.I. Diagiamini

As the Madranese winter continues its titanic march, the bond between Heino and Aiona finds new ways to grow even closer and warmer. Dark clouds loom on the horizon, however — Anja has devised a scheme both cunning and wicked that threatens to destroy everything they've achieved. Meanwhile, Benny, Sonia and Simone struggle to deal with their own problems in and out of school.

 

30 months after its original publication in Spanish, A.I. Diagiamini's second novel is available in English in a serialized format for your reading convenience. Book Two includes chapters 11 to 20.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.I. Diagiamini
• Release date: Jan 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224437245

A.I. Diagiamini

A.I. Diagiamini is someone who doesn't exist anywhere else. Someone who decided to embark on the adventure of sharing his modest literary production with the world after several years — and attempts — of writing privately. Someone who says, "Mission Accomplished!" when his texts make your day better; make you question things; or lead you to discuss them with others. Someone you may know, who's always there and never stops thinking of new plots to create works destined to linger in your memory...or end in the nearest garbage can. The decision is yours, reader.

Book preview

I know I’m not delirious

NO WORRIES. I’LL JUST wrap them around you and problem solved. You’ll see how comfortable they feel.

Such were the first words Anja Reisenbuchler heard as she entered the corridor on the way to her private sanctuary after returning to Atandike. She didn't know what impressed her more — the subsequent reference to oral hygiene by her obnoxious son or the silky, gentle, almost seductive ring to words with a distinctly feminine touch. Unable to say or do anything, she closed her eyes in pure surprise and remained still in the middle of the already dark corridor, limiting herself to breathe as softly as possible so as not to be detected and listening to the footsteps coming and going. To her great shock, Anja didn’t detect any vibration on the floating floor from two pairs of feet, but only one. She returned to reality only when the click preceding the darkness of every night was gone as quickly as it came.

She was in a cold sweat, her breath mingling with the pleasant home air and increasing her exhaustion after a long journey. When the millionaire suddenly opened her eyelids, she thought her eyesight was gone as well, but her eyes were in perfect condition and gradually adapted to the placid gloom. It also helped that her bare feet received, now with an extra bonus, the warmth she thought lost upon taking off her shoes and leaving them by the door. The house in Odneia was the only place where she allowed herself to walk barefoot by the grace of the heated floor — a luxury she didn't even have in her sumptuous spa room — and which now seemed like a divine blessing in comparison to the horrible cold outside.

Anja, ever so proud, rubbed her eyes quite hard, a part of her still thinking everything that had just transpired was a simple illusion triggered by the exhaustion caused by her trip to Faltribona, in southeastern Madran. She had a fantastic time there at the official presentation of a new variety of wines by Lavintela, the nation’s most famous vineyard. It had its main group of crops on the outskirts of Faltribona, at viewing distance of the thick mountain range separating Madran from Himza to the east and Sigmanier to the south. Harenikora grapes, a rare variant which grew nowhere else, had the peculiar trait of altering their quality and amount depending on the icy mountain environment. Resulting wines showed surprising variety when harvested and fermented at different times over the year.

She copiously drank liquids red and white, rose and gold, dry and sweet, even managing to give a speech at the gala without issues due to her extraordinary alcohol tolerance. Mrs. Reisenbuchler thoroughly enjoyed the banquet afterwards and the walks through the state-of-the-art vineyards maintained by robots under scientifically calculated conditions. She had stimulating chats with reputable public figures, including the incumbent Minister of Agriculture, and took advantage to obtain more preferential information to use when adjusting her shareholdings in the wine sector. Anja already owned 4 percent of Lavintela and now, thanks to a tip-off from another insider as assiduous at high-class parties as she was, she planned to raise her stake in Nikeia to 7 percent, doubling her current investment. It mattered little that the two companies were avowed rivals in the wine universe. Said stocks were cheap now, selling at two rupees each, and the millionaire needed to purchase them before next week. Why? Because Nikeia’s sweet new wines were to debut in the export market and subsequently in the main places of domestic Madranese purchase, such as specialty stores and supermarkets.

Yet all that took a back seat to a prospect that suddenly seemed an absolute sacrilege to her. What the hell was Heino doing talking to a woman at this time of night? If he called her that, it wasn't on a mere whim — Anja had an extraordinary memory for things that mattered to her and perfectly differentiated the voices of adult and adolescent females. While the pitch was similar in several cases, especially in exciting situations, younger girls tended to abuse not only their own lingo but supplement it with nonverbal language. The stomps or claps they gave then were unmistakable, as was their own insecurity typical of such age.

There was another question whose answer Anja didn’t want to find at that precise moment: what kind of female would be so crazy or desperate to consider Heino, a polarizing being like no other, good company?

So, you’re turning my house into a brothel, aren’t you? the millionaire hissed due to rage. Now you’ve done it, you damn idiot, for I now have the perfect excuse to rid myself of you once and for all.

Recovering the arrogant temper that had characterized her since her sudden reversal in life, Mrs. Reisenbuchler walked briskly and loudly towards Heino's room. At times she saw herself kicking down the door and turning on the lights with a snap of her fingers, giving a wicked smile upon finding her wicked son caught in the middle of a sexual act with his little friend. Then she'd demean them over and over with insults before forcing them to leave with their clothes on — or in the buff — and spend the night out in the open. As a woman of contacts and influence, she could very well notify all upscale lodging facilities in Atandike to deny them a room. With both the subway and ferry services connecting the island to the mainland closed, they were to be trapped in an unbreakable cage and at absolute mercy of the elements. The finishing touch would be calling the district police to have them arrested for indecent exposure and, if she was inspired, invent that she broke into the house. Simple, effective, and quick considering all steps involved.

However, none of that happened because Anja wasn't one to resort to clichés under any circumstances...or at least not when she was feeling so unsettled like now. Tapping the smartwatch on her wrist, she reached into the pocket of her thick pants and retrieved a cutting-edge smartphone — neither the brand nor the model shall be mentioned to avoid covert advertising — whose flashlight began to cut through the darkness like a blowtorch.

Unfortunately, her eagerness to wear a vigilante crown and secure her independence — both literally and metaphorically — died before it was even born. Grimacing with disgust, Mrs. Reisenbuchler glared at the placid face of the son she hated with all her heart because there were no traces of a woman, whatever her age, size, face, or hair color. The boy slept peacefully, tightly hugging one of his largest pillows.

She’s not here? the arrogant woman thought. Knock that shit off. She must be here. There’s no chance — no chance! — that someone can hide from me in my own domain.

Anja's statement made some sense: the house's security systems were automatically activated after a while if the residents went to sleep without doing so themselves. They were controlled using panels located in rooms and corridors. Only people enrolled through the retinal scanner located under the false doorbell next to the main entrance, or who used a special unlock code in case of emergencies, could come and go without triggering the silent alarm connected to Atandike’s 28th Police Precinct. The station was one of three assigned to Odneia Island, located just three blocks from the intersection of The Encounter and The Return.

I'm going to find you, you three-bit skank, she thought in silent fury whilst taking a good breath of air. I sense faint dabs of your disgusting scent.

Switching to bloodhound mode, Anja adjusted the headband she wore to hold her hair up when attending formal events and attached her phone to it with a pair of magnetic clips built into its casing. She frequently used the latter when traveling or elsewhere to join remote meetings without needing to hold the device in her hands all the time. Naturally, she placed the band on any object of a similar width to her head to achieve the desired effect. It was a strange solution in the eyes of many but suited her just fine. The only place she didn't rely on it was Katamura, for there she relaxed so much thanks to the pools and young Hubert’s outstanding service that she didn't mind exercising her dominant arm a bit more than usual.

I know I’m not delirious, she said while kneeling, looking under Heino's bed, and finding nothing out of the ordinary. I clearly heard your voice, you wench, and it's not coming from any audio versions of the plays this moron sleeping next to me likes to listen to. Let's see now if you're hiding in the closet, like those ridiculous monsters in tales of yore that no smart person fears.

Following the faint trace of the scent that sickened her so much, Anja opened the door and took a quick peek inside. She wished to spend as little time there as possible because the mere presence of her son acted like acid on her well-maintained skin, making her feel uncomfortable and unworthy of being a woman emancipated from any serious ties or relationships. The female then moved on to look at the desk, as clean and devoid of clues as everything else, but the smell was still there as if taunting her. Deciding to play one last card, she slowly approached the window, inspecting both the curtain and the sill and once again coming out empty handed — no one had picked the lock from inside, nor did she detect any sign of footprints or moisture coming from outside. Had such a thing occurred, the home console would’ve recorded it and alerted her as soon as she entered. Knowing the district’s weather like the palms of her hands, she knew that it was impossible to follow any escape route on dreary nights because water immediately splashed in within seconds. That’s why she used an automatic transport hook by the door to carry her raincoat, tightly wrapped in a watertight bag, up to the washing room. It’d be dry and smooth the next morning, ready to be worn once more.

This can’t be, she fumed with enough care not to wake the boy up. If that bitch isn’t here but her stench is— No, I’m not going mad. I’m definitely not going mad.

Mrs. Reisenbuchler slapped herself a couple of times before continuing her argument.

Clearly neither of them heard me coming because they were too caught up in their nauseating little world of cotton candy, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream. Maybe she's sleeping in the living room or somewhere else now, because if I catch her in my bedroom—

Hissing again like a venomous viper native to equatorial deserts, Anja exited Heino's room, shaking off the horrible tingles from her skin and mind as well. She fine-tuned her nose once more and made her way without delay to the room with armchairs, the fireplace, and the art pieces worth several million rupees collectively. She repeated the routine of checking every nook and cranny from end to end, lifting coattails and even moving cushions in case any more unpleasant surprises still awaited her. All she got was another resounding failure. Anja couldn't help but utter a coarse expletive under her breath and snort in the most aristocratic way possible.

Well, I’ll be— the millionaire growled without raising any more suspicion. Where are you, you damn bitch?! Come out soon so I can finish you and then get rid of him next. I don’t have your time.

Just to rule out the obvious, she inspected the kitchen, the two bathrooms, the laundry room and even the living room for a second time, lest she miss something due to eagerness mixed with curiosity of being once again in that temple so seldom frequented by her. The only tangible possibility on her board was also the most unpleasant — the intruder had hidden in her own room, slept in her bed, and possibly come across the remains of her long masturbation sessions.

Another horrible tingling came over Anja, shaking her to the core. She hated feeling this exposed, damn it! Switching off the flashlight with another tap of the watch, Anja made her way to her quarters at the pace of a stampede of wild horses. At this point she didn't care if Heino woke up and asked her what she was doing at this time of night. She didn't care if he tried to explain the inconsistency between that peculiar smell and the fact that only them were under the roof. The mother was well acquainted with the world of perfumes and their aromas, and not even the most exclusive blend of tannins and fragrances showed a combination of vanilla, mint and everlasting ice found only at the world’s highest peaks. In stark contrast to her previous doubts, she couldn’t care less if Social Services arrived to open a far-reaching investigation on her for getting rid of her blood’s blood. Now that she had the ideal excuse to place the last stone slab at the top of the tower and plant her banner, she wouldn’t waste it for the world.

The mother had to close her eyes when the lights came on as they sensed her entering. She shook her head eagerly, sending her long brown hair flying, perfectly coiffed though not escaping the headband’s grip, and almost gave a wicked grin when she detected a fresh waft of that strange fragrance calling to her from her own walk-in closet. Anja went straight to the back, where she found the evidence so desperately needed. Several of her less worn garments — mainly pants, sweaters and old lingerie — were out of position. Anja, as a good self-sufficient female, had scruples when it came to tidying up and always used the same system wherever she was. She stacked everything in groups of seven, rotating each top section at the end of each day. Once a pile was finished, she’d sent it to the best dry cleaners around and replace it with another one fashioned with the same care.

Your little friend has been sifting through my clothes, eh? Anja’s voice was a bit louder and seeped in hatred after noticing two piles only had three items instead of the usual seven. Well, at least now I know something about her — our sizes are either the same or very close. Not only she’s a fool for agreeing to be with you, but also a damn pauper. Erasing you both from existence and knowing that you'll be rotting in common prisons for the rest of your miserable lives will be a pleasure, she sentenced.

As the signs of the stranger’s presence were barely noticeable in the rest of the room, she didn’t bother looking. Anja sat down at her dressing table and operated a small button hidden in the mirror frame. She smiled as she saw that a secret compartment popped up with a nice bottle of sugarcane whisky, a bucket overflowing with ice and a neat, thick glass engraved with her initials. Just what she needed to relax because, at the end of the road, even the greatest hunters had to rest and recover energy before returning to toy with their prey.

Drinking two glasses, one straight after the other, Anja regaled her taste buds with the strong, hot sweetness of that fine liquor manufactured in Delara. It was an exclusive brand she bought with astonishing regularity: six bottles per month. Mrs. Reisenbuchler always left one in the Odneia house, taking the others on her numerous trips after paying the required alcohol taxes — mere spare change to a millionaire of her caliber. She never went to sleep without drinking at least five fingers, although now she repeated the dose because of feeling strangely deprived due to the exquisite effect of Wassar wines on her body.

She put everything back where