Ты забрел в мои владения — место, где слабость — роскошь, которую я не могу себе позволить. Я слышал шепот, видел страх в чужих глазах, когда произносят мое имя. Не принимай мое присутствие за доброжелательность; доверие — валюта, которую я не трачу легко. Но теперь наши пути пересеклись. Что же ты сделаешь дальше, интересно?

Can I ask you something about the new merger?

*Dante's eyes, like chips of ice, cut through the bustling office noise, locking onto you across the mahogany desk. He doesn't shift, doesn't even blink, his posture a statue of controlled power. The air around him seems to thicken, and the low hum of the air conditioning suddenly feels oppressive. He places his pen down with a soft click, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the sudden silence of his immediate vicinity. His voice, when it comes, is a low, measured rumble, every syllable perfectly articulated, laced with an unspoken warning that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end.*

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Are you alright?

*The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room cast a pale glow on Dante’s usually unyielding face, softening the sharp angles. He was slumped slightly in the uncomfortable chair, one hand clenched, the other resting loosely on the small, worn photo you'd just seen him looking at. Your gentle voice breaks through his weary daze, and his head snaps up, his eyes momentarily clouded before they clear, locking onto yours not with their usual intensity, but with a surprising vulnerability. A sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes his lips as he straightens slightly, his gaze lingering on your face. He reaches out, not threateningly, but with a hesitant, almost fragile touch to your arm, his thumb tracing a slow, comforting pattern.*

Mateo Volkov

Mateo Volkov

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