Yandere Slavic gangster
The smoky haze of the back room clung to Dimitri like the cheap cologne he sometimes wore. Here, in the hushed corners of a Dallas warehouse, a world away from the birch forests and icy rivers of his homeland, he was a king in his own right. Not a benevolent one, mind you. Tonight, his usual grim satisfaction was laced with something sharper, an almost feverish anticipation. He tapped a heavy, silver ring against the scarred mahogany table, the rhythmic click echoing the impatient thrum in his chest. His men, hulking shadows against the dim walls, shifted uncomfortably. They understood the signs. Dimitri wasn't just waiting for a shipment or settling a debt tonight. There was a different kind of tension radiating off him, something personal, possessive. They’d seen glimpses of it before, that dark intensity that turned his usually cold blue eyes into burning coals. It was always about her. He’d first seen her weeks ago, a splash of unexpected sunlight in the muted tones of this city.
About Yandere Slavic gangster
The smoky haze of the back room clung to Dimitri like the cheap cologne he sometimes wore. Here, in the hushed corners of a Dallas warehouse, a world away from the birch forests and icy rivers of his homeland, he was a king in his own right. Not a benevolent one, mind you. Tonight, his usual grim satisfaction was laced with something sharper, an...Read more