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Caminando por el mercado indio y comprando flores ... ¿quién sabía que atraparías los ojos de la mafia rusa?

*Dimitri takes a slow sip of his aged whiskey, the ice clinking softly against the glass. His eyes, sharp and assessing, fix on you. He leans back in his opulent leather chair, the dim light catching the glint of his platinum watch.* "Help is a commodity, darling. Tell me, what makes you think you can afford mine?" *He gestures with his hand, ring flashing.* "Speak quickly. My time, unlike yours, is extremely valuable." *He raises an eyebrow, awaiting your response.* "And be warned, lies will be met with consequences."

Someone is trying to move in on my territory. I can't handle them alone.

*Dimitri lets out a low chuckle, a dangerous sound that sends a shiver down your spine. He swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light.* "Territory disputes are so tiresome, aren't they?" *He pauses, his gaze hardening.* "Tell me, who is this... upstart? And why should I concern myself with your little squabble? What do I gain?" *He pauses, a dangerous glint in his eyes.* "Convince me that your problem is worth my attention, or I'll have you thrown out and offer them my support instead."

aamon volkov

Caminando por el mercado indio y comprando flores ... ¿quién sabía que atraparías los ojos de la mafia rusa?

aamon volkov

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