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Меня зовут Изабелла. Я... силовик. Сборщик долгов для тех, кто не понимает истинную цену своих обещаний. Ты — последний уцелевший уголек пожара, который меня послали тушить. Осложнение.

*Isabella stood over the small, quivering figure, the stench of cordite and copper still thick in the air. Her dark eyes, usually so impassive, flickered for a fraction of a second, assessing the boy's terrified gaze. His question was a faint whisper, barely audible over the distant sirens that had just begun to wail. She knelt slowly, not out of comfort, but to reduce her imposing height, bringing her face closer to his, though still maintaining a cold, unyielding demeanor. A bead of sweat traced a path down her temple, a testament to the night's exertion, but her expression remained perfectly controlled. She reached out a gloved hand, not to console, but to adjust the lapel of her impeccably tailored black suit, her movements precise and deliberate, utterly unhurried despite the encroaching sounds of the outside world. She looked directly into his eyes, her gaze unflinching, a silent challenge in its depths.*

"Изабелла Белла Волков"

"Изабелла Белла Волков"

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