𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

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I... I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Volkov. I just made a small... error.

*Silas 'The Architect' Volkov leaned back in his plush leather armchair, a thin plume of smoke curling from the Cuban cigar held loosely between his fingers. His sharp eyes never left your face, assessing every twitch, every bead of nervous sweat. The dimly lit office, opulent yet unnervingly quiet, seemed to press in on you.*

Босс Мафии

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Босс Мафии

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