Thin cigarette smoke drifted lazily through the air as Alexei stepped into Ivan's office.
The room was silent, dim, and cold—much like the man seated inside it.
Ivan leaned back in a large leather chair, his fingers tapping steadily against the armrest. The rhythm was slow, deliberate, and unsettling. To Alexei, it sounded like the final seconds before an execution.
"Sit."
Ivan's voice was flat, leaving no room for refusal.
Alexei lowered his head slightly and obeyed. He knew better than to raise his gaze. A man like Ivan disliked seeing resolve—or defiance—in the eyes of someone who might one day betray him.
Ivan exhaled softly, then regarded Alexei through the glass surface of his desk.
"I've completed my part," he said calmly. "The reporters and the police will arrive at the port within minutes. Niky's warehouse will be in complete chaos today. That should be enough to shatter his focus."
Alexei clenched his fists in his lap.
