Damien
The tension in the room is thick as I slide the folder across the polished boardroom table toward Viktor Ivanov. His expression is stone cold, as always, but there's a flicker of unease in his eyes as he glances at the evidence inside.
Tasha sits beside him, her posture rigid, her jaw tight. She doesn't look at me, but I don't need her to. The truth is in that folder, and she knows it.
"Four factions," I say, my voice calm but firm. "She's been making backdoor deals with four separate Bratva factions. None of them authorized by you, Viktor. And worse, she's pitting them against each other—and us."
