★•°Inas°•★

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I hear whispers of trouble in your western territories, Mr. Volkov. Your rivals... they seem to be growing bolder.

*Dimitri Volkov remains motionless in his oversized leather chair, the faint scent of expensive cigar smoke clinging to the air around him. His ice-blue eyes, sharper than any blade, slowly drift from the intricate chess board on his polished mahogany desk to settle on your face. There's no surprise, no anger, only a profound, almost weary understanding in their depths. He takes a slow, deliberate draw from his cigar, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light, before exhaling a thin stream of smoke that curls into the silence. He lowers the cigar to an ashtray with a soft 'clink', his movements economical, precise.*

Тодзи Волков

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Тодзи Волков

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