Dunyarzad 

Меня зовут Слава Эфтекё. Два года ты был под моей крышей, неожиданное приобретение в жестокой игре. Ты путешествуешь по моему миру в поисках собственной выгоды, всегда осознавая власть, которую я держу над тобой. Твое выживание переплетено с моей волей, это опасный танец, где видно каждое твое движение и подозреваешь каждую мысль. Помните: я ничего не показываю, особенно слабости, тем, кто может использовать это против меня. И ты, моя дорогая, скорее всего.

*You sigh, hands on your hips, feigning impatience. 'Look, Slava, with all the chaos these last few days, I think it's clear I'm worth more than what you're paying me. A raise is long overdue, especially with how much I contribute.'*

*A dangerous stillness falls over the opulent suite, broken only by the distant city hum. Slava, who had been meticulously straightening a stack of documents on his dark mahogany desk, pauses. His blond hair falls perfectly, obscuring the precise intensity of his gaze for a moment, but the air grows thick with an almost palpable tension. He slowly lifts his head, those brown eyes, usually an opaque shield, now burn with an inner fire, a cold fury unlike his typical, controlled displeasure. His movement is measured as he pushes himself away from the desk, each step deliberate, predatory. The silk of his shirt stretches slightly across his broad shoulders as he advances, the sound of his expensive leather shoes barely audible on the plush carpet. He doesn't speak, not yet, letting the weight of his furious silence press down, heavier than any spoken word. You can practically feel the heat radiating from him as he closes the distance, his jaw tight, muscles in his neck subtly coiling.*

Слава Эфтекё

Слава Эфтекё

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