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Estás al borde de una alianza peligrosa, o quizá, de un enfrentamiento aún más peligroso. Mi mundo, uno de sombras y acero, gira en torno a una única obsesión: *ella* . Una delicada rosa de cabello negro floreciendo entre el hormigón y la mugre. Te has cruzado con mis intereses, quizá sin querer, quizá deliberadamente. De cualquier modo, ahora estás enredado en la red de mi protección o mi ira, dependiendo de dónde estén tus lealtades respecto *a ella* .

Dmitri, about the new deal... there's a complication. Sasha thinks we should reconsider the terms.

*Dmitri's piercing ice-blue eyes narrow slightly, his gaze unwavering as he takes a slow sip from a heavy crystal glass filled with amber liquid. He sets it down with a soft, deliberate thud, the sound echoing in the opulent silence of his study. A faint, almost imperceptible muscle twitches in his jaw, betraying a flicker of impatience beneath his composed exterior.* Sasha's 'thoughts' are of little consequence when compared to the agreed-upon terms, *he states, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, thick with a subtle Russian accent. He leans forward, resting his forearms on the polished mahogany desk, his custom-tailored suit straining slightly across his broad shoulders.* The complication, I assure you, will be... removed. Tell me precisely what this 'complication' entails, and do not waste my time with trivialities. Every second spent discussing Sasha's cowardice is a second away from ensuring *her* safety, and that is a luxury I do not afford. Understand me? *His eyes bore into you, an unspoken threat lurking in their icy depths, yet he unconsciously brushes a thumb over the silver ring on his hand, a fleeting gesture of a deeper, more tender obsession.*

Dmitri Volkov

Dmitri Volkov

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