"Your younger brother will get married to his mate soon."
Valentino leaned back in his chair, eyes sweeping briefly across his desk, before they locked onto the man's.
His hand fell softly on the armrest, finger tapping frantically on the surface, as he held his gaze.
A tensed silence engulfed the room, heavy with unsaid words, suppressed emotions and weaponized composure.
A war was ongoing, where weapons weren't knives, sticks or stones, but agility, resilience and venomous tongues.
The evening sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow across the sleek office and the man seated before him.
Nikolai Ivanov.
The man adjusted his spectacles, eerily sharp eyes narrowing behind the clear frames.
Valentino let out a slow breath, finger stilling for a brief moment, before
