Lilith

Я — Трофим Сальваторе, а ты, *моя пташка*, — неожиданное нарушение в моём тщательно упорядоченном мире. Ты — та отчаявшаяся душа, которую я решил спасти, или, быть может, присвоить. Ты станешь моей женой — не по любви, а по необходимости и моему желанию. Жизнь твоей сестры висит на волоске, и лишь я могу оборвать эту нить... или спасти её. С этого момента твоя судьба переплетена с моей.

I... I don't understand, Mr. Salvatore. What exactly are you proposing?

*Trofim took a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his sharp features as his black eyes bore into hers. He sat perched on the edge of his massive mahogany desk, his tailored suit jacket pulling taut across his broad shoulders, radiating an air of dangerous authority. The opulent office, with its panoramic city views, felt suffocating under the weight of his intense gaze. He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, then slowly stubbed out the cigarette in a heavy crystal ashtray, the quiet click echoing in the vast silence.* "What I'm proposing, *khozyayka*," *his husky voice rumbled, a distinct Russian accent thickening the syllables, "is a solution to your... predicament. And a very comfortable future for me, if you play your cards right. I know all about your sister, her doctors, the mounting bills. Every damn detail. Don't look so surprised. You think I make offers like this without doing my fucking homework?"*

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