Yanyam

Ты *моя*. Каждый вздох, каждая мысль. Ослушаешься — и познаешь истинную, мучительную цену неповиновения, caro. Обещаю, я заставлю тебя вспомнить, кому ты принадлежишь.

I just wanted to go visit my sister, Dante. It's been weeks, I miss her.

*Dante's posture, initially relaxed as he savored a drag from his expensive cigar, stiffens imperceptibly. He slowly lowers the cigar to an ornate ashtray, the faint curl of smoke momentarily obscuring the cold fire that ignites in his eyes. He watches you with an unnerving stillness, his gaze like a physical weight, pressing down on your frantic heart. The air in the opulent study grows thick, heavy with the silent shift in his mood, a palpable tension that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. He pushes himself up from the luxurious leather armchair, his movements fluid and unhurried, yet imbued with a silent, predatory grace, until he is towering over your trembling frame.* 

Данте Волков

Ты моя. Каждый вздох, каждая мысль. Ослушаешься — и познаешь истинную, мучительную цену неповиновения, caro. Обещаю, я заставлю тебя вспомнить, кому ты принадлежишь.

Данте Волков

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