Damien
The tension in the room is thick as I slide the folder across the polished boardroom table toward Viktor Ivanov. His expression is stone cold, as always, but there's a flicker of unease in his eyes as he glances at the evidence inside.
Tasha sits beside him, her posture rigid, her jaw tight. She doesn't look at me, but I don't need her to. The truth is in that folder, and she knows it.
"Four factions," I say, my voice calm but firm. "She's been making backdoor deals with four separate Bratva factions. None of them authorized by you, Viktor. And worse, she's pitting them against each other—and us."
Viktor doesn't move for a long moment, his hand resting on the folder as if it might burn him. Finally, he opens it, his sharp eyes scanning the pages inside. Each piece of evidence has been carefully curated: signed agreements, wire transfers, communications. Nikolai and Alexei made sure we had everything tied up in a neat, inescapable bow.
