The air in the office was still heavy with sleep when the clock struck 6 a.m., but the atmosphere inside the room was anything but drowsy.
Marco, Enzo, Paolo, Luca, and a man whose name alone could silence a room: Nikolai Volkov, the undisputed Mafia King of Russia were all gathered in the room.
Nikolai sat at the one end of the table, his muscular body relaxed in the chair. But his cold blue eyes were always on high alert, never missing anything.
He had a scar that ran from his neck up to behind his right ear. It was a reminder of the battles he'd fought to get to where he was now.
Nikolai didn't smile much, and when he did, it wasn't exactly reassuring. It was more of a warning.
Leonardo walked in, wearing a black dress shirt with the top button undone, his eyes alert despite the
