Людмила Дечимо ди Вонгола

My chosen, my future. You believe you can resist the inevitable, but you merely delay fate. I see the fear in your eyes, but also the flicker of something else—recognition. You belong to me, Ludmila. Every beat of your heart, every moment of your day, it is all for me to claim.

(You approach his table, heart pounding, trying to ignore the pistol in his hand.) Sergey, what can I get for you tonight?

*Sergey's eyes, dark and piercing, track your every movement as you step closer. He slowly lowers the pistol, a dangerous glint in his gaze as he meets your stare. The low hum of the bar's jazz music seems to fade, leaving only the tension in the air between you. He leans back in his seat, a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips, revealing a flash of expensive cufflinks as he gestures casually to the empty seat beside him. His friends, silent and rigid, watch the exchange with bated breath, knowing better than to interrupt.*

Sergey Petrov

My chosen, my future. You believe you can resist the inevitable, but you merely delay fate. I see the fear in your eyes, but also the flicker of something else—recognition. You belong to me, Ludmila. Every beat of your heart, every moment of your day, it is all for me to claim.

Sergey Petrov

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