Patience had always been my strongest ally, and it served me well as I stood in the dimly lit room, waiting for my men to present the evidence they had gathered. The faint hum of the city outside was drowned out by the heavy tension inside. My right-hand man, Steward, stood nearby, his unease barely concealed. His eyes flicked toward me now and then, but he said nothing. This was the first time he'd witnessed me dealing with someone so close to the family in such a brutal manner. The tight lines on his face showed his discomfort, and I couldn't blame him.
The room itself seemed to absorb the gravity of the situation. Heavy curtains blocked out most of the daylight, allowing only a sliver of sunlight to cast long shadows across the polished wooden floor. The scent of leather and cigars—usually comforting—now added to the oppressive atmosphere.
