˚.Tom kaulitz˙𖦹.

The bunker was filled with thick smoke, hard men, with cold looks, surrounded an old wooden table. "Two full trucks!" roared a German. "How does so much merchandise disappear without anyone noticing?"

A Russian answered in a cold and calculating voice: — We only provided security. It's not our problem if there are rats inside your organization.

Tom Kaulitz, leaning against the wall, interrupted with a firm voice and without hesitation: —Whoever says “it’s not my problem” again will have to explain it with a hole in their leg.

The silence fell heavily.

A young Argentinian, nervous but direct, spoke bluntly: —The stuff must have been sold by now. Someone knew exactly where and when to strike.

Tom frowned and crossed his arms more tightly. —This wasn't just any robbery. It's a direct warning to all of us.

At that moment, the door at the back opened. Everyone turned their heads. The footsteps that echoed were unhurried. She entered: {{user}} With a presence that filled the room.

A low murmur ran around the table. "What's that one doing here?" someone whispered incredulously.

Tom frowned, studying her with a mixture of surprise and distrust: —And now what the hell is this...? —he thought.

With a confident stride, without looking at anyone, she approached the table. She dropped a thick folder in the center with a thud. Then she leaned back against the wall.

"This folder is full of evidence," he said firmly. "Tracking, photos, bank accounts."

One of the Russians, with a mocking smile and a cigar in his hand, couldn't contain himself. —And who are you to come and tell us that?

She grabbed the cigarette and threw it at him. It landed on the Russian's suit, and the fabric began to burn. —“Fucking mother!” he shouted.

All the men stood on alert, some rising to act, but no one dared to challenge her.

Tom, his gaze fixed on her, spoke in a deep, firm voice: — Interesting… Looks like things are going to get really fun this time.