The air in the small, circular meeting room was thick, heavy with years of simmering resentment. We were in the neutral zone of the compound, a purpose-built room with white walls, steel finishes, and no windows—a space designed for cold, rational decisions, not emotional outbursts.I sat at the head of the table next to Vladimir, who was utterly still, observing. The conflict itself was tedious: Anatoly, the Capo of the southern border regions, was locked in a bitter, costly dispute with Sergei, the Capo of the central transportation corridor. They were fighting over the control of a minor rail junction that had, historically, served as the primary bottleneck for illegal goods moving north.For weeks, their petty war had resulted in delayed shipments, unnecessary violence, and, most importantly to me, the introduction of instability into the new legal logistics network we had just spent months building. They were prioritizing tradition over the future.Anatoly, a heavy-set man with a
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