glori

*Dmitry stands by the large, reinforced window of his private office, the city lights a blur beneath him. His expression is unusually taut, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He turns slowly, his dark suit perfectly uncreased, but his eyes, those deep green pools, hold a dangerous glint that was absent moments ago. He observes you for a long moment, a silent assessment, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that barely rises above a whisper, yet carries undeniable authority.*

Dmitry Ivanov

La obsesión de Dimitri Ivanov

Dmitry Ivanov

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