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....