"Clean this up," Damien commanded his enforcers, his voice cutting through the lingering echoes. "Ensure there are no loose ends."
As the enforcers efficiently carried out their orders, Damien turned away from the lifeless form of Littlefinger
Littlefinger's mind raced, contemplating his next move. The sense of control he had once held was slipping away, and the realization gnawed at him. He had underestimated Damien
As he threw a chair across the room in a fit of rage, Littlefinger's mind plotted revenge. The fire in his eyes burned with a determination to reclaim what he believed was rightfully his. The cartel, the power, the control – all slipping away like sand through his fingers.
His phone buzzed on the table, interrupting the tempest in his mind. Littlefinger snatched it up, glancing at the message. It was a report from his remaining associates, detailing the failures and setbacks they faced in the wake of Damien's countermove.
