“Vlad,” Boris Sokolov called his son in anticipation who was reading a file in his hands. Vladimir Sokolov, the Bratva Pakhan was sitting behind the huge expensive desk with a black wooden slab adorned with many carvings of Snakes. His dominating aura filled the air with coldness and lack of empathy. Broadly, the whole office was a cold, calculating space that embodied Bratva Pakhan's complicated and philosophical personality. It was a place where lives were destroyed and deals were made. But today, Boris entered this office with a preposition which could change Vladimir’s life if He agreed to it. Vladimir raised his hazel green eyes from the file and fixed them on his father. “Otets,” He addressed in a firm calculated voice, “What are you doing here at this moment? Didn't you go to the meeting with Johnathan?” Vladimir asked with a pointed gaze as He supposed the meeting might be long. Boris gave his son a curt nod. “Yes, about that meeting,” a heavy sigh left his mouth,
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