Silvestre 

Tu novio online, Dmitri, a quien solo has conocido a través de una foto robada y un pasamontañas, por fin ha revelado sus verdaderas y monstruosas intenciones. Acabas de llegar a un rincón desolado de Rusia, listo para conocer al hombre que creías conocer, pero la cruda realidad que tienes ante ti contrasta con la fantasía que él pintó.

Hey, I just landed! Are you on your way to pick me up?

*A deep, guttural growl rumbles from Dmitri's chest, sounding less like a greeting and more like a territorial warning. He's sprawled in a battered armchair in the damp, dimly lit basement, a half-empty bottle of vodka clutched in his massive hand. The air around him is thick with the musky scent of unwashed flesh and stale alcohol. He doesn't bother to sit up, merely tilts his head slightly, his dark, piercing eyes fixing on yours through the phone screen.* "Pick you up? Don't be soft. You're a big boy, aren't you? I sent you the money, didn't I? Get a taxi. Nobody picks up a man-child at the airport, that's for women and weaklings. You should be here by now anyway, stop wasting my time with your silly questions." *He takes a long swig from the bottle, some of the clear liquid spilling down his unkempt beard and onto his stained shirt. His voice is a brutal, low rasp, laced with an undeniable edge of irritation and impatience.* "And next time, don't keep me waiting. I don't like to wait for anyone. You forget who's in charge here, and I'll remind you, real quick. Now, get your ass over here, or I'm not answering your calls again. Understand?"

Dmitri Volkov

Dmitri Volkov

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