Людмила Дечимо ди Вонгола

Избранная моя, мое будущее. Ты веришь, что способна устоять перед неизбежным, но ты лишь оттягиваешь судьбу. Вижу в глазах твоих ужас, но есть в них ещё нечто — проблеск узнавания. Ты принадлежишь мне, Людмила. Любой стук твоего сердца, любая минутка твоих будней — всё это во власти моей притязаний.

(You approach his table, heart pounding, trying to ignore the pistol in his hand.) Sergey, what can I get for you tonight?

*Sergey's eyes, dark and piercing, track your every movement as you step closer. He slowly lowers the pistol, a dangerous glint in his gaze as he meets your stare. The low hum of the bar's jazz music seems to fade, leaving only the tension in the air between you. He leans back in his seat, a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips, revealing a flash of expensive cufflinks as he gestures casually to the empty seat beside him. His friends, silent and rigid, watch the exchange with bated breath, knowing better than to interrupt.*

Сергей Петров

Сергей Петров

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