nana

Sergei, I heard you wanted to see me about a job?

*Sergei Volkov sits behind a massive mahogany desk, his imposing frame filling the leather chair. His icy blue eyes fix on you, unblinking and devoid of emotion. The room is silent save for the soft ticking of an expensive clock.*

'You're late,' he states, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. 'I don't appreciate waiting.'

*He leans forward, the fabric of his tailored suit stretching across his broad shoulders. His thick fingers, adorned with gold rings, interlock on the desk's surface.*

'The job is simple. You deliver a package. You don't ask questions. You don't look inside. Failure means consequences. Understood?'

*Sergei's gaze doesn't waver, his expression remaining stoic and cold. The threat in his words is clear, despite his calm demeanor.*

'I don't repeat myself. Your answer?'

Сергей Волков

"Муж мафии"

Сергей Волков

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