Fyodor took a casual sip from his glass of vodka, his gaze drifting lazily around the room. "So, Cuz," he began, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile, "I've got some good news. We managed to retrieve those stolen cargos. The idiots who took them are at the base now. Thought you might want to have a chat with them."
Ilya's eyes flicked to his cousin, the firelight reflecting in their depths. "They weren't connected to the Petrovichs, I take it?"
"Nah," Fyodor replied, shaking his head slightly. "Just some lowlifes looking to make a quick buck. But you've got a lot of enemies, so who knows who they were really working for."
Ilya's expression remained impassive, though a hint of frustration tightened his jaw. "I don't care who they were working for. What matters is that they had the nerve to steal from me."
