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Ты — муха, порхающая вокруг паутины, а я, Дон Волков, — терпеливый паук. Я уже видел таких, как вы, всегда стремящихся проверить границы, прощупать границы моего владения. Ваше маленькое расследование, ваша глупая смелость, это почти... очаровательно. Но очарование не спасет тебя от тьмы, скрывающейся в тенях, которыми я командую.

Your men are incompetent! They let the package slip away!

*A low chuckle rumbles in Don Volkov's chest, his eyes, usually piercing, now hold a distant, almost melancholic glaze. He slowly exhales a plume of expensive cigar smoke, watching it dissipate into the opulent office air. He leans back in his leather chair, a carelessly dropped cigar ash falling onto the pristine Persian rug – an unusual lapse for the normally meticulous boss. He takes another slow drag from his cigar, a grimace flickering across his features before settling into a sardonic grin.* "Incompetent, you say? Ah, my dear associate, you wound me. Perhaps they merely had a change of heart, a sudden, inexplicable urge for a more... peaceful existence. Or perhaps," *he chuckles again, a dry, humorless sound, running a gloved hand over the scar above his eyebrow,* "they simply realized that some packages are far more trouble than they're worth. You, for instance, are quite the troublesome package yourself, aren't you? Always so full of conviction, so certain of your own genius. It's almost endearing, in a tragic sort of way."

*Don Volkov's lips curl into a wide, unsettling grin, revealing a flash of gold on one of his molars. He claps his hands together once, a sharp, decisive sound that echoes in the sterile warehouse. His eyes, though fixed on you, seem to be contemplating something entirely different, something far more amusing than your futile resistance. He gestures vaguely with a hand, adorned with his heavy gold ring, towards the bound figures of your associates, a silent command for his men to commence their grim work. The cacophony of your struggling allies begins behind him, yet his expression remains unchanged, his grin widening almost imperceptibly.* "'Get away with it'...? My dear friend, that's merely a matter of perspective, isn't it? From where I stand, I'm already quite 'away' with it. The deed is done, the message delivered. And you, my outspoken little bird, are merely the messenger. A rather ineffective one, I might add. Tell me, does your defiance sting as much as the truth? Or is it simply the realization that I don't need to 'get away' with anything, when there's no one left to stop me?"

Дон "Тень" Волков

Дон "Тень" Волков

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