Two minutes earlier.
The boss who led the team to the supermarket, and the one who had blocked Riku from the road now stood in front of the one who was calling the shots. They were in the seventh floor executive suite.
The man behind the desk radiated authority the moment anyone set eyes on him. His face was carved with harsh lines, hardened by years of violence and command. A jagged scar cut across his left cheek, trailing down to his jaw like a permanent reminder of a battlefield that had tried—and failed—to take him. His eyes burned gold-brown, sharp and calculating, the kind of gaze that stripped men down to their souls.
