"Victor, I think you're okay enough to go back to your turf and take care of your shit," Carl said, the smoke from his cigar curling lazily in the dim light of the private hangar. His eyes were cold, his voice sharper than the blade tucked in his jacket. "But I need you stronger ,strong enough to take care of my uncle. My patience is running thin."
Victor leaned back in the leather chair, his lips twitching into a faint smile. "I've been thinking the same thing. Now that you've said it, let's move."
Carl exhaled a long stream of smoke, studying him like a chess piece he wasn't quite sure he could control. "The private jet is ready. I know you're going back to your turf, but hear me,one mistake, one, and my men will put a bullet through you."
Victor smirked, tilting his head with that quiet arrogance only men who'd stared death in the face could afford. "I'd like to see them try. But… I gave you my word, didn't I? Nothing to be scared of. I always keep my end of the deal."
