It was good to be the boss.

Silver thumbed through it all. Expense reports, investments, testimonials on how much the new Team Rocket was helping trainers around the region—even the globe. “Eat your heart out, old man,” he said, sipping a small flute of wine, savoring the flavor before letting it trickle down. “I brought us inside the law and look at me now. Half your age and more successful than you ever dreamed you could be.”

Lesser men might be tempted to shunt aside the work, or feel daunted or intimidated by the sheer scope, but Silver Larussa was no lesser man. He worked hard and was reaping the benefits of success, and he enjoyed the drive to make Team Rocket both more respectable and more successful than ever before. Finally finished with the last of the documents, he drained the flute and settled back into his chair, smiling at his own good fortune.

His study was spacious, tastefully adorned with understated yet luxurious cushions, chairs, and hardwood bookshelves. If there was one thing of Giovanni’s he didn’t regard with contempt, it was the old man’s style. Though the materials were of Silver’s own choosing, they were of similar make—just because the head of the Rockets was now a businessman, not a mafia don, there was no excuse to engage in poor taste.

A warm, roaring fire glowed in the hearth, filling the room with orange light and the faintest hint of woodsmoke. The smell reminded him of Lustre, the Typhlosion, and his trainer—Silver’s paramour, Annie.