The scent of gun oil and espresso clung to the air in Leon Virelli’s private office, a space sealed from the outside world by titanium walls and silence. He sat behind his obsidian desk, back straight, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, reading a report that had just arrived from his Lisbon contact.
Subject: Rothwell shipment intercepted. Intel confirms Delacroix counter-move.
Leon didn’t blink. He merely closed the file and slid it aside.
“They’re moving faster than I expected,” he murmured.
Across from him, Viktor stood like a statue — silent, loyal, lethal.
“Shall we retaliate?” Viktor asked.
Leon gave a slight nod. “Send the Black Flame unit to Rothwell. Eliminate everyone. I want no survivors. But burn the goods — don’t keep them. Let Arturo know we’re not interested in his crumbs
