The boardroom was a study in controlled power.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, the skyline stretching out in sharp angles and glass.
The long table in the center was polished mahogany, surrounded by leather chairs that probably cost more than most people's cars.
At one end sat Don Luciano, perfectly composed in his suit, his hands folded on the table.
His presence filled the room like gravity.
Flanking him were three lawyers, each with thick folders and tablets, expressions professional and unreadable.
Across the table sat the other shareholders—older men mostly, a few women, all watching with the sharp-eyed calculation of people who knew exactly what power looked like.
And at the far end, standing slightly apart from everyone else, was Victor.
He looked different than he had in the warehouse.
Cleaner, more put-together, but also smaller somehow.
Like he wasn't sure he belonged here.
