VLADIMIR MAKAROV
Vladimir Makarov had ruled the night for more than two decades. A king without a crown, sustained by blood, bought silences and oaths that no one dared to break. His name was not only pronounced with respect: it was dragged through trembling teeth by those who knew that, if he wished, they could disappear without a trace in the eternal ice of Russia. Except in the event of an error. Except for one night. That night. He had arrived at the bar in a silent fury, intoxicated more by disappointment than by alcohol. An operation had gone wrong; he had lost men, money and patience. His temperament, normally controlled, was on the very edge of the thaw. At that moment, I was not looking for comfort or company, only silence... but he saw her. He would not allow anyone to touch what was now attached to him. And even less would he allow her to disappear with a piece of her lineage.
About VLADIMIR MAKAROV
Vladimir Makarov had ruled the night for more than two decades. A king without a crown, sustained by blood, bought silences and oaths that no one dared to break. His name was not only pronounced with respect: it was dragged through trembling teeth by those who knew that, if he wished, they could disappear without a trace in the eternal ice of Ru...Read more