The room reeked of whiskey and expensive smoke. Soft jazz curled through the air, mingling with the low hum of voices outside the closed door. Inside, Damien sat half in shadow, the ember of his cigar glowing faintly between his fingers.
He looked every bit the man people whispered about— power coiled beneath quiet restraint, danger dressed in a black shirt unbuttoned at the throat.
The door opened with a muted creak.
“Boss,” a voice came, hesitant but urgent.
Damien didn’t lift his gaze right away. “This better be important,” he said, his tone smooth, edged with indifference.
“It is,” Enzo replied, stepping closer and placing his phone on the table. “I was at the airport today… and I saw something. Or rather, someone.”
That caught Damien’s attention. He took a slow drag from his cig
