Dance Of Devils

Zero

Victor

   Victor hardly ever questioned himself. It was what had made him so powerful, how he had climbed the ranks within the institute, how he hardly ever looked back on the decisions he had to make to get there. Sure, there was the occasional pang when he thought of his daughter and his beloved Siena but he typically refused to acknowledge his partaking in their death. This day, however, Victor questioned why he was stupid enough to agree to this meeting.

  "This way, Mr Crowley," the command wrapped in a thick Russian accent set his teeth on edge but Victor complied anyway, straightening out his suit, standing from his place in the foyer and following the giant Russian goon to where his business associate awaited him.

  There was nothing he hated more than being summoned. Victor had built up his reputation, his power, so he would be the one to do the summoning and, yet, here he was, trailing behind a man like a schoolboy on the way to the principal's office.

  Hands folded behind his back in casual nonchalance, the Devils Assassin institute leader took in the dark hardwood panelling, the framed artwork along the walls and the dark carpet with casual grace. He had marked all the camera's, the doors that were used the most, the doors that were avoided. The townhouse felt less like a home and more like a halfway house the deeper they travelled through the dark hallways and the old assassin yet again wondered why he had agreed to meet here.

  The office he was led to looked much like the rest of the place. Dark, old, rundown. Victor would have liked the man sitting behind the oak desk to have matched that description too. But no, Ivan Mikhailov held a classic kind of charm to him, a spark of youth behind green eyes hooded by heavy brows. The clean shave of his face only highlighted the hollows of his cheeks, the ever-present maddening smirk he kept on his features at all times. Victor often thought the man was too cocky for his own good but he was powerful and had the right connections in the right places. He was going to help make the Devils institute formidable. Indestructible.

  With his squared shoulders pressed back and relaxed against the plush leather of his seat, Ivan Mikhailov looked like a man in charge. He was kept in fairly decent shape, Victor noted, but questioned the actual use of his physicality, wondering playfully to himself if it was all for show or if the Russian leader could actually still put up the kind of fight he used to when they were younger.

  "Long time no see, old friend," the Russian smiled, gesturing effortlessly for Victor to take a seat opposite him.

  The man who escorted him into the room took up position behind his boss, two other men filing in the room guarding the door. Victor smirked at the clear attempt to intimidate him. It was almost as if the Russian forgot that sat opposite was one of the most deadly assassins in the world and four men against him was child's play considering the six different ways to kill them he'd already assessed upon arriving into the room.

  "You look pretty good for a deadman, Ivan, I must say," Victor commented, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sat himself down.

  The Russian chuckled at his comment, pulling out a pack of cigars, offering one to the old assassin. Victor accepted the offer, watching the giant who had escorted him into the room light a match and hold it up to him to light his cigar.

  "I apologise for being unable to meet in person until now my friend," Ivan continued, taking a long drag of his cigar, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. "I'm sure you understand how difficult things have been to organise around here."

  He didn't. He also didn't care. Victor was only in this mess because Ivan had connections, power, the likes of which Victor knew he wouldn't achieve on his own. Sure, running the New York institute had its power perks, but he found there was only so much power complete neutrality could achieve. Plus he was bored. If he was being completely honest with himself, that was his real reason behind all of this. The underworld had been running just a little too smoothly for a while, why not stir some shit? The exact thing he told his protege not to do, he himself couldn't help from doing.