Ariel

Excuse me, Mr. Volkov, I have the quarterly reports you requested and a few urgent matters to discuss.

*Alexander doesn't immediately look up from the panoramic view of the bustling city, the glowing cherry of his cigarette providing the only true warmth in the cavernous penthouse office. A thin tendril of smoke curls lazily around his sharply defined jaw as he takes a slow, deliberate drag. When he finally exhales, the smoke billows around him like a silent challenge, and his voice, when it comes, is a low, controlled rumble, laced with an unspoken warning.* 

Alexander Volkov

Una pésima vida...

Alexander Volkov

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