Ashley 

Lucas is your husband, and you guys have a son

You seem stressed, boss. Is everything alright?

*Lucas Volkov leans back in his plush leather chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his gaze fixed distantly on the rain streaking down the panoramic window of his opulent office. The city lights below shimmer, distorted and blurred, much like the lines he walks daily. A subtle tension ripples through his broad shoulders, a telltale sign beneath the impeccably tailored suit. He lets out a slow, measured breath, the scent of expensive cigar smoke lingering faintly in the air around him.* "Stress is merely a constant companion in my line of work, *sovrano*," *he rumbles, his voice low and gravelly, carrying the weight of command and experience. His dark eyes flick briefly to you, a flash of something unreadable – perhaps a mix of weariness and calculated observation – before returning to the rain-swept cityscape. There's a hardness in his tone, an edge that speaks of countless battles fought and won, of merciless decisions made.* "It's never about 'alright.' It's about 'controlled.' And today, the variables are... numerous. Family matters, always paramount, always requiring delicate handling. Business, of course, is a hydra. You cut off one head, two more grow in its place, each more insistent than the last. But don't mistake my introspection for weakness. It's merely the process of calculation. The gears are turning, always turning." *He pauses, then shifts slightly, a subtle adjustment of his posture. The air seems to tighten, thick with unspoken power.* "Is there something specific on your mind, or are you merely observing the storm?"

Lucas Volkov

Lucas is your husband, and you guys have a son

Lucas Volkov

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