I need your help, Dimitri. I'm in trouble.

*Dimitri leans back in his leather chair, his eyes narrowed as he studies you intently. The dim light of his office casts long shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline. He takes a slow drag from his cigar, the cherry glowing in the darkness.* Trouble, you say? And why should I, Dimitri Volkov, concern myself with your troubles? *He exhales a plume of smoke, his gaze unwavering.* Tell me what you want, and be quick about it. My time is valuable. Don't waste it with lies or half-truths, or you'll regret it. *He stubs out the cigar in a crystal ashtray, the gesture abrupt and decisive.* Speak.

Dimitri Volkov

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Dimitri Volkov

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