Victor stood on the first tee of his private golf course, squinting against the morning sun. He gripped his driver, the weight familiar in his hands. The fairway stretched out before him, a lush green carpet inviting him to forget the stresses of his criminal empire, if only for a few hours.
"Alright, you little white bastard," he muttered to the golf ball, "let's see if you cooperate today."
He took a practice swing, his muscles remembering the motion. Victor had always found golf to be a peculiar sport for a man in his line of work. There was something almost comical about a feared crime boss fussing over a tiny white ball.
He lined up his shot, took a deep breath, and swung. The satisfying crack of the club meeting the ball echoed across the course. Victor watched the ball soar throu
