"I didn't expect the Bratva's tech queen to be quite so... captivating," Lorenzo's voice dripped with irony as he observed Galina, who was absorbed in deciphering a web of encrypted data.
Galina's gaze remained fixed on her screens, her expression a...
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The weight of the empire rested heavy on my shoulders, an intangible crown of thorns pressing against my temples. I sat behind my desk, a fortress of mahogany carved from wood so rich it gleamed even in the dim light of my office. The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting their sterile glow over the polished surface, reflecting the distorted outlines of whiskey tumblers and scattered papers. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of steel and concrete cloaked in the muted gray of an impending storm. It loomed, restless and brooding, as if sharing my unease.
My fingers tapped against the leather armrest of my chair in a steady rhythm—an unspoken countdown, a physical manifestation of my impatience. Time slipped through my grasp like sand, each grain lost an indictment of my inability to pin down the elusive truth.
The silence was broken by the sharp, jarring thud of the door slamming against the wall. My eyes flicked up, narrowing as David strode into the room, his movements deliberate and commanding. He filled the doorway like a storm front, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing silhouette. The faint scent of smoke and leather trailed him, mingling with the faint musk of the room.
"Boss," he greeted, his voice low, rough-edged like gravel beneath a boot. His dark eyes locked onto mine, sharp and unyielding, but beneath their surface lurked a shadow of uncertainty—a ripple in the calm façade of a man unaccustomed to delivering bad news.
I leaned back in my chair, the supple leather creaking faintly beneath me. My gaze remained fixed on him, unblinking, as he closed the door with a deliberate click that resonated in the quiet room. "What have you found?" My words cut through the air, sharp and precise, leaving no room for pleasantries.
David stepped forward, the soft thud of his boots against the Persian rug a metronome to the tension hanging between us. He set a folder down on the desk with a measured deliberation, his hand lingering for a moment before withdrawing.
"Not good news, boss." His voice was steady, but his clenched jaw betrayed the frustration simmering beneath. "The spies—there's nothing. No communication, no tracks. It's as if they've been swallowed whole by the shadows."
