Lazar’s POV
The warehouse smelled like steel, oil, and the faint sweetness of oak crates. It was a familiar smell I was used to ever since I was a child.
The memory of my dad explaining how the business runs flashed across my mind, but that felt like ages ago.
I watched as my men moved like machines. They were loading and organizing the new shipment bound for Europe. Rifles, handguns, grenades, all tucked neatly into boxes disguised as industrial equipment.
I stood a few feet above them on the iron platform, watching. There was always something satisfying about this view.
Everything was in order. Everything was under my control. A kingdom built not from gold or marble, but from discipline, fear and bloodshed.
“Boss.”
I turned at the sound of Rodosov’s voice. He was broad as a wall,
