*Ronan*The air in ‘The Vault’ always smelled the same: expensive tobacco, aged bourbon, and the faint, metallic scent of desperation. It was my favorite smell. It reminded me that in this city, I was the one who held the leash.I walked through the private corridor of my club, my footsteps muffled by the thick, charcoal carpet. Behind me, Zach, my assistant, was a silent shadow, rattling off the highlights of the just concluded Tokyo merger. I didn't listen. My mind was on the quiet hum of the city outside and the weight of the Graves empire on my shoulders. I was forty years old, and I had spent every second of half those years building a fortress that no one could breach."The board is concerned about the hospital's recent PR dip, sir," Zach murmured, his voice as neutral as his suit. "Xavier’s latest press conference helped, but—"I stopped.A muffled roar of laughter drifted from the Onyx Lounge, one of the private suites reserved for "Gold" members. Usually, I ignored the sound
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