DMITRI VOLKOV
The sound of paper flicking filled the silence.
Dmitri Volkov sat behind his desk, fingers gliding across the pages of a thick black folder, the corner of his mouth twitching every now and then, not quite a smile, not quite a frown. His office was large, draped in shadow despite the daylight bleeding through the frosted windows. The snow outside Russia's borderlands fell slow, steady.
His secretary stood nearby, stiff, spine straight, a tablet in one hand.
"Everything is ready, sir."
The man said, voice low, clipped.
"Your jet departs at 14:00 hours. You'll land in Florence just before 19:00 local time. The others are already en route. Our men are positioned. Surveillance, transport, internal points executed as instructed."
Dmitri didn't look up. He simply nodded, eyes still on the file.
"And the guests?"
"All major families confirmed. Their transportation is arranged. We're tracking movement from France, Serbia, Palermo, even two from Bogotá. Everything is going according to plan."
Dmitri didn't look up. He turned another page. Then stilled.
"And Montagna?"
The question cut the air like a wire.
The secretary stiffened.
"He hasn't responded."
Dmitri's fingers stopped. The page curled slightly beneath the weight of his hand. Then, with a quiet snap, he closed the file.
"I never expected him to come anyway."
Dmitri murmured. His voice was low, thoughtful, almost amused.
"But it would've been....profitable."
He leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting to the frost-laced window. The reflection of the fire danced faintly across the glass.
Switzerland.
Now that was a kingdom built on silence.
The Swiss-based syndicate, the one the world only whispered about, wasn't loud, didn't brandish power like a weapon.
It was the weapon.
Hidden in alpine shadows, wrapped in discretion and backed by unimaginable wealth. No theatrics. No blood on marble floors. Just clean, surgical precision. Where other families ruled by violence, they ruled by control of banks, of ports, of silence.
Even Dmitri, a man feared across three continents, didn't know the true leader's name. He only knew of the men that followed. And followed without question.
The world called them La Montagna.
The Mountain.
Not just because of their Swiss roots, but because you never saw them coming until they were above you. Too high to reach. Too steep to climb. Too dangerous to shake.
YOU ARE READING
Silent Scars
Teen FictionAfter enduring years of neglect and cruelty from her mother and stepfather, Ariana's life changes drastically when tragedy brings her under the guardianship of five brothers she's never met and they never even knew they had a sister. For her brother...
