Dangerous beginnings / MADE MEN BOOK 1

Carcer mendaciorum - Prison of Lies

Aslanov

The morning arrived with a sense of urgency that hung heavy in the air. I am fueled by a mixture of determination and anger. I left Isabella still sleeping peacefully in bed, her presence a bittersweet comfort amidst the chaos that surrounds me.

I've been avoiding her. 

I slip out of the cabin, the weight of my responsibilities pressing down on me like a leaden blanket. Two of my most trusted men stand guard outside, their steely gazes scanning the perimeter for any signs of trouble.

I waste no time in getting down to business, my mind already racing with plans and strategies to uncover the traitor within my organization.

I adjust my guns in my hollister and then throw over my suit jacket. Adjusting my cuff links after putting on my Rolex. One last glance towards Isabella before I head out. 

I make my way into the heart of Moscow.

My office is dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the single lamp on my desk, casting long shadows across the room. The curtains are still closed, the sun not risen yet. I sit behind the desk, my expression dark and brooding, as my advisor enters cautiously.

"What do you have for me?" My voice is low and cold, my eyes fixed on the man standing before me.

My advisor swallows nervously, acutely aware of the simmering anger that radiates from me like a palpable force. "We've gathered some intel on the recent shipments," he begins, his voice trembling slightly. "But there's been a complication."

Another fucking problem.

My jaw clenches at the mention of a complication, my patience wearing thin. "Spit it out," I snap, my tone sharp and commanding.

My advisor clears his throat, steeling himself for what is to come. "It seems that one of our warehouses was raided last night," he explains, his voice faltering slightly. "We lost a significant portion of the merchandise."

My eyes flash with fury at the news, my fists clenching at my sides. "And what of the perpetrators?"

The advisor hesitates, unsure of how to proceed. I want to slice his throat.

"We're still investigating," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "But initial reports suggest that it was a rival gang."

Petrov.

My anger boils over at the mention of a rival gang, my control slipping with each passing moment. "Those bastards will pay for what they've done," I growl, my voice laced with venom. "I want every available resource devoted to tracking them down."

My advisor nods hastily, his eyes wide with fear at the raw power emanating from me. "Of course, sir," he stammers, taking a step back towards the door. "I'll see to it personally."

Fuck he will.

After a bit of paperwork, the sun rises, light casting into my office. My men have gathered, and as I make my way over to the conference room I need to contain the anger running through my vessels.

I stand tall at the head of the table, my eyes blazing with a fierce intensity as I address my men. My voice is like steel, cold and unyielding, as I speak of the betrayal that has infiltrated my ranks.

"Listen up," I spit, my words dripping with contempt. "We have a snake in our midst, a coward who hides in the shadows and strikes at us from within."

My fists clench at my sides, the muscles in my jaw tight with anger as I continue.

"This traitor thinks they can outsmart me, thinks they can bring down everything I've worked so hard to build," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. "But they're wrong. Dead wrong."