Autumn in Moscow was golden, with streets covered in maple leaves, but the top floor of the Nikolskaya Hotel felt as if it was separated from the world outside. The VIP meeting room, surrounded on all sides by bulletproof glass and soundproof walls, was a place where even the sound of breathing seemed to echo in the stillness. The air carried the familiar scent of power and threat: the fragrance of 30-year-old Aged whiskey, Havana cigars, and expensive leather, like the haunting memories of hundreds of life-and-death negotiations that had taken place here before.
Dang Hoang Khanh – known in the Western underworld as Devil Vasily – the cold demon disguised as an angel. Beside him was Louis Revangod, the man whom the entire world called with two concise words: The Tsar of Russia.
Khanh leaned back comfortably in his chair, his black trench coat open to reveal a white shirt with two buttons undone, exposing a collarbone as sharp as moonlight, so exquisite it could cut anyone’s eyes. Every detail on him was frighteningly refined. His black hair was neatly combed, and his ash-gray eyes were as still as an autumn lake, but capable of stirring waves at any moment. The aura surrounding him was a cold arrogance that made anyone facing him feel like they were talking to death – beautiful, but indifferent.
Louis, sitting across from him, was taller and more relaxed – like a beast from Slavic legend. His dark brown hair, long enough to touch his neck, gently fluttered in the wind like a wild warning. His sapphire eyes were as cold as stone, piercing the heart of anyone who met his gaze. He wore a navy blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular arms full of scars – no jewelry was needed; each cut was a testament to his kingship. No one rushed. The whole room seemed to only echo with the sound of ice melting in a glass.
Louis broke the silence first, his voice carrying a playful tone, but his eyes betrayed a rare seriousness:
"Hey, Devil, I’m in trouble this time. Just lost a shipment."
Khanh gently tilted his whiskey glass, the golden liquid swirling like the sunset outside the glass window. He glanced at Louis, the corner of his mouth curling slightly:
"How much?"
Louis laughed dryly, the sound like smoke curling in the air:
"4 billion dollars. No joke."
Khanh frowned slightly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the rim of his glass, his face showing no panic, as though hearing that an empire had collapsed was just an ordinary matter.
"Details."
Louis stretched his body, his eyes, as cold as emeralds, glinting:
"The goods were from Kaliningrad, headed to Central Asia. They were ambushed on the way. Three armored vehicles – gone. Twelve of our guards – dead. No trace left."
Khanh pondered for a few seconds. His eyes, now sharp like a sword drawn from its sheath, spoke:
"There’s a traitor." – not a suspicion, but a statement.
Louis nodded, exhaling a long breath:
"Besides me, only three others knew that route. One of them is the mole. I’m having people clean them up."
Khanh smirked, his gaze cold but laced with a familiar, sarcastic tone reserved for his old friend:
"You’re getting old, Louis. Leaving a hole this big, you deserve a beating from me."
Louis chuckled hoarsely, his voice filled with indifference:
"Yeah. I’d like to beat myself up too, save you the trouble of snapping my neck."
A brief silence, then Khanh slowly set his whiskey glass down on the table, his low voice resonating:
"I spent 2 billion on that shipment."
Louis squinted, about to say something, but Khanh raised a hand:
"Don’t bother apologizing. I don’t need to hear it. I just need to know... we’re getting double back."
Louis burst into laughter, a deep, resonant laugh that echoed in the room like a hellish roar:
"You’re crazy, Devil. Lost 1.5 billion and still want a profit?"
Khanh slowly leaned forward, his ash-gray eyes locking onto Louis’s, his voice like the coldest ice:
"You know... I don’t invest for fun. I invest for blood."
Louis looked at him, the corner of his mouth curling up in a wry, reluctant smile:
"Blood spilled, blood falling, as long as it’s their blood, right?"
Khanh chuckled softly, and for the first time that cold night, a smile appeared. It wasn’t a joyful smile, but one from someone preparing to bet the entire hell on the game:
"Yeah. And I’ll personally send them to hell."
The two men extended their hands, gripping tightly. A handshake filled with arrogance, like a blood oath between two rulers born to dominate the darkness. Outside, the maple leaves continued to fall gently to the cold ground. But inside this sealed room, the real storm had begun to form – and it would leave no one alive.