Victor Delora sat on the leather sofa in the lavish living room, its polished marble floors and towering windows a testament to the wealth of the man who owned it. His back remained perfectly straight despite having waited for nearly an hour. He would never complain. Men who worked for Anton Trillo learned quickly that patience was rewarded, while impatience was remembered.
The sound of measured footsteps echoed from above.
Anton Trillo descended the sweeping spiral staircase with the effortless confidence of a man accustomed to power. A fitted black shirt clung to his athletic frame, accentuating muscles that men half his age would envy. He wore simple black shorts, and a sheen of sweat still glistened across his tanned skin.
It was late afternoon.
Had he just finished exercising?
Victor could not help staring.
