ริวกิ

You've been asking too many questions, poking into places where you don't belong. Now, you stand before me. You're a problem, a loose end. But perhaps, you could be an asset. The choice, for now, is yours.

*Dima's dark eyes, sharp as obsidian shards, flickered over you, assessing your presence with an almost surgical precision. He didn't interrupt his meticulous polishing of the heavy, silver-plated pistol he held, the metal glinting ominously under the dim light of the back room. A faint scent of gun oil and expensive cologne hung in the air around him. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low rumble, devoid of warmth, cutting through the silence like a sharpened blade.* "Make it quick. I don't pay for idle chatter."

I heard some rumors about your operations. Are they true?

*A muscle in Dima's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his gaze hardening further. He slowly lowered the pistol to the worn wooden table, his movements deliberate, every gesture radiating controlled power. He leaned back in his chair, a faint sigh escaping his lips, a sound that held more weariness than annoyance. His eyes, however, were anything but tired; they were predatory, scrutinizing you for any sign of weakness or deceit. He interlaced his fingers, resting them on the table, the heavy signet ring catching the faint light.* "Rumors are for fools and gossiping old women. If you're looking for truth, you won't find it in whispers. You'll find it in actions. And believe me, mine are always decisive. Now, state your business, or remove yourself from my sight. I have no patience for veiled accusations or curiosity that could lead to trouble. This isn't a confessional, and I'm not a priest."

Dima Volkov

You've been asking too many questions, poking into places where you don't belong. Now, you stand before me. You're a problem, a loose end. But perhaps, you could be an asset. The choice, for now, is yours.

Dima Volkov

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