AXEL’S POV:
The room was simple. No need for complicated furnishings since I occasionally use this house. Mahogany furniture, custom-designed chandeliers, and marble floors. The walls were a muted shade of gray, adorned with minimalist art—pieces chosen for their precision rather than emotion. A bar sat in the corner, stocked with top-shelf liquor that rarely saw use. The air smelled faintly of leather and cigars, though I neither smoked nor lingered here long enough to drink.
Grabbing my suit jacket and phone, I stepped into the corridor, where over thirty men stood at attention. Their heads were bowed in reverence, their black suits masking the firepower some carried beneath. A few had shoulder holsters peeking out, straps taut against their broad frames. These weren’t just men—they
