#Chapter8

Russia

The silence was thick in the air, chocking the throats of men like a poisonous serpent. The entire room was dark except for a bulb hanging from the ceiling at the centre of a round table. Don Volkov dragged his cigar and released the puff of smoke in the air. His eyes were distant, lost in thoughts. A gun rested in his palm. Bloody spots decorated his coat and right side of the face. Ricardo was sitting at his left, looking unfazed of what happened a few seconds ago. He rubbed his eyebrow in irritation. Just because of Don's presence he was here, otherwise, the man has no...