Two days later, Victor stood before the full-length mirror in his bedroom, adjusting the pristine cuffs of his midnight-black suit. The tailored Italian fabric hugged his broad shoulders and tapered perfectly at his narrow waist, highlighting the lean, muscular physique he'd maintained through rigorous training. Five years of rebuilding himself had transformed his body into a weapon—efficient, powerful, and deadly.
His face had hardened into sharp angles and shadowed hollows. A thin scar traced his jawline, barely visible unless you knew to look for it. His dark eyes reflected nothing, giving away none of the storm that raged within him.
Victor straightened his red tie and exhaled slowly. Tonight wasn't just about information gathering. It was about returning to the grave Xavier had dug
