The silence in the room stretched like a taut wire, threatening to snap. The air felt oppressive, heavy with the faint, metallic tang of blood mingling with the sharp bite of expensive whiskey and cologne. The contrast was stark: a room designed for wealth and power, tainted now with death and the unmistakable stench of fear.
I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking softly under my weight, my gaze sweeping over the assembled men. Nikolai's lifeless body lay slumped on the floor, his eyes staring vacantly at the chandelier above. The pool of blood beneath him was spreading, slow but relentless, staining the polished hardwood in a grotesque mockery of elegance.
A server appeared at the edge of the room, her presence tentative. She moved toward me, her hands trembling as she reached for my untouched glass of whiskey. But then her eyes darted to the corpse, and she froze. The color drained from her face, her breath catching audibly in her throat.