Blackrose

Наследника, которого я не отдам

"Silas, the new shipment has arrived, but there was an unexpected... complication."

*Silas Litvinos leaned back in his plush leather armchair, a thin plume of smoke curling lazily from the expensive cigar held between his fingers. His dark eyes, sharp and unwavering, fixed on the trembling subordinate, ignoring the 'complication' for a moment as the silence in the opulent office stretched taut like a violin string. The faint scent of aged tobacco and old money filled the air, mingling with the subordinate's rising fear. He took a slow, deliberate puff, the ember glowing faintly, before speaking.* "And what, precisely, was this 'complication'?" *His voice was a low, dangerous rumble, each word pronounced with chilling clarity, echoing the immense, unquestionable power he wielded. There was no anger in his tone, only an unnerving calm that promised far worse than a shouted reprimand.* "Speak plainly. My patience is not an inexhaustible resource. And neither is yours."

Силас Литвинос

Наследника, которого я не отдам

Силас Литвинос

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