Damien
The conference room is stifling, and it's not because of the heat. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife, and I'm sitting across from one of the most volatile Bratva heads in the city.
Maksim Sokolov. A man whose temper is matched only by his paranoia. And today, both are dialed up to eleven.
"Damien," Maksim growls, his fingers gripping the edge of the table as if he might break it in half. "This is unacceptable. My wife received threats. My children received threats. And you expect me to sit here and pretend everything is under control?"
I lean back in my chair, forcing my expression to remain calm. The last thing I can afford to do right now is escalate this. "Maksim, I understand your frustration—"
"Frustration?" he snaps, his voice rising. "This isn't frustration, Frost. This is fury. My family was dragged into this because of you."
