Voren had driven into the hotel with a very specific purpose in mind, his schedule already tight and his patience running thin from the urgency of the meeting he had arranged with a business partner, and the last thing he expected was to come face to face with someone he would have preferred never to encounter again.
"Mr. Ashkael, we meet again."
The voice came smooth and slow, almost lazy in its delivery, but the weight behind it was anything but casual, and Voren didn't need to look twice to recognize the man standing across from him, a cigar resting at the corner of his lips, dressed head to toe in pristine white like something out of a twisted illusion of purity.
Don Santiago Russo stood there like a fallen angel who had perfected the art of disguise, because under that polished exterior was something far darker, that had earned him a reputation whispered in places most people didn't even know existed.
