Victor stood at the entrance of the grand ballroom, his mask concealing the scars that told the story of his resurrection. The opulent display of wealth surrounding him—crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, and the elite of the criminal world draped in designer fabrics—only fueled his determination. He scanned the crowd methodically, his crew flanking him.
"See anything you like, boss?" Jordan whispered, adjusting his silver mask. His eyes darted appreciatively toward a group of women by the champagne fountain.
Maria elbowed him sharply. "We're here to work, not for you to find your next disappointment," she hissed through her mask.
"Children, please," Gerald muttered, his voice low and measured beneath his mask. "This isn't a playground. Victor needs to concentrate."
Jordan rolled his
