City A embraced the late autumn days with a relentless, drizzling rain.
It wasn't the sudden downpour of summer that quickly passed, but a fine mist that hung in the air, soaking everything, carrying a damp chill that seeped into every corner of the streets, and every crevice of the soul.
The autumn wind whistled through the ancient trees, sighing in mournful tones, like a sad melody for an unending night.
In the study on the highest floor of the Volkov estate, the atmosphere was even colder than outside.
The warm light from the antique desk lamp barely illuminated the towering stacks of documents and the stern, etched features of Dmitri Volkov.
Dmitri Volkov
Dmitri Volkov
//Sat in his black leather chair//
Dmitri Volkov
//Long slender fingers tracing the rim of a subtly steaming cognac glass//
Dmitri Volkov
//Every movement he made was calm, unhurried, yet exuded an underlying power that made onlookers afraid to even breathe//
Dmitri Volkov.
That name, merely whispered within City A's underworld, was enough to make even the strongest men shiver.
He was the boss of the Volkov Familia, an empire built on steel and blood, its roots burrowed deep into every artery of the city's economy and society.
Under his command, everything had to operate with absolute order, without a single error.
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