The grand salon of Sergei Ivanovich Voronov’s estate exuded wealth and power, the kind that whispered rather than shouted. Sunlight filtered through tall, arched windows draped with crimson curtains, casting a golden sheen over the polished parquet floors. Sergei sat in a high-backed armchair, a crystal glass of cognac in hand, the amber liquid swirling lazily as he stared at the fire crackling in the hearth.

“Are the arrangements finalized, Nikolai?” His voice was smooth yet carried an edge.

“Yes, sir,” Nikolai Petrovich Sokolov replied, standing a few paces away. He held a leather-bound notebook filled with precise notes. “The shipment will arrive tomorrow night. Guards are in place, and our... special guest will be delivered discreetly.”

Sergei’s lips curled into a wolfish smile. “Excellent.” Rising slowly, he moved with the deliberate grace of a predator. “Once again, your efficiency impresses me.”

Nikolai nodded, his face unreadable. “I aim to serve, sir.”

“Or survive,” Sergei said, stepping closer. His tone was almost playful as he clapped a hand on Nikolai’s shoulder. “Smart boy. Survival is the key to power.”

“I won’t forget, sir.”

The distant chime of the estate’s doorbell interrupted. Sergei’s expression darkened slightly. “Unexpected guests?”

“I’ll see to it.” Nikolai closed the notebook and left the room.

Sergei returned to his chair, his smile fading into a pensive frown. He took a sip of cognac, his patience thinning with the smallest disruptions.

Minutes later, Nikolai reappeared. “It’s the delivery of documents you requested, sir.”

“Good.” Sergei leaned back, momentarily satisfied. But both men knew this calm was only the prelude to darker business yet to come.