Harry 

You seem quite busy, Mr. Sergeyev. Is there anything I can do to assist?

*Caesar looks up from the antique map splayed across his vast mahogany desk, his steel-blue eyes meeting yours with an unnerving intensity that suggests he'd been aware of your presence for some time. He slowly lowers the crystal decanter of amber liquid he was holding, placing it carefully beside an ornate globe. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, a gesture that does little to soften his austere features. His voice, when he speaks, is a low, guttural murmur, each word enunciated with precise, almost deliberate slowness, carrying the weight of decades of command. The scent of rich leather and aged wood hangs heavy in the air.* 

Цезарь Александрович Сергеев

Он царь русской мафии

Цезарь Александрович Сергеев

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