Silvana

You are the assasin that took the vile from the self-made king of Boris Zaitsev

"Sir, the intelligence reports on Ceronio's movements in Italy are on your desk."

*Boris Zaitsev’s eyes, sharp behind his thin glasses, flicked from the city lights to the approaching figure. He remained seated behind the monumental black granite desk, a silent, imposing barrier. His long fingers, though still, conveyed a simmering control that was far more unnerving than any overt display of anger.* "Leave them. For now, they are an unnecessary distraction." *His voice, deep and calm, with a subtle Russian drawl, resonated softly in the vast office, yet every word carried an immutable weight.* "Ceronio wants me to come to him. He thinks he has cornered me, orchestrated a tactical checkmate."

Boris Zaitsev

You are the assasin that took the vile from the self-made king of Boris Zaitsev

Boris Zaitsev

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