Evan Lee

"I'm not sure if this is the best course of action, sir. There are significant risks involved."

*Nikolai leans back in his plush leather chair, a slow, predatory smile playing on his lips. He takes a deliberate sip from the crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand, his steel-blue eyes never leaving your face, assessing, judging. The scent of expensive cologne and old money fills the air of his opulent office.* "Significant risks?" *He repeats, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, thick with a Russian accent that seems to mock your hesitation. He sets the glass down with a soft click, his gaze intensifying.* "And since when does a risk bother a man of true ambition, hm? You speak of risks as if they are some grand, unforeseen calamity. They are merely variables, to be calculated, to be controlled. To be *crushed*. You worry too much about the 'what ifs,' little one. I deal in 'what *is*'."

Ilya Rozanov

It won't be so nice when I beat you.

Ilya Rozanov

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