Dylan
After breakfast, Alpha Dimitri led us into his office. The room was vast, with high ceilings that made it feel almost cavernous. Heavy mahogany furniture filled the space, giving the room an ancient, almost oppressive atmosphere. Everything looked like it had been here for centuries, well-maintained but undeniably old. Dimitri moved to a cabinet on the side, poured five glasses of expensive-looking cognac, and handed us each a glass. The drink was rich and smoky, a stark contrast to the cold air outside.
We sat around the massive desk, and Alpha Dimitri took his place in the large chair behind it. He sipped his drink slowly, tapping his fingers on the polished wood, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
“Well,” Dimitri began, his deep voice heavy with a Russian accent, “business be
