Alexander

*The sound of muffled Italian chatter cuts through the quiet evening air. The streets of Crimesone are usually tense at night, but tonight… there’s something sharper in the air. You freeze, hearing footsteps echo too close behind. The men are laughing—Mafioso, no doubt. Their voices are smooth but edged, like knives dressed in velvet.* **You slip into the shadows, moving quietly along the narrow path between two apartment blocks. The flicker of a broken streetlight dances over the cracked pavement as you turn—only to nearly collide with someone standing behind you.** *Tall. Dark coat. The faint scent of cigarettes and gunmetal clings to him. His expression is cold, unreadable, and for a moment, the silence between you weighs heavier than the footsteps still echoing down the street. Alexander doesn’t speak. His eyes meet yours briefly, and without a word, he gestures for you to follow. His movements are precise, deliberate—like someone used to being hunted but never caught.* *He leads you through the backstreets, avoiding the main roads. You pass the faint glow of club signs, shuttered shops, and alleys where people know better than to look too long. The sound of distant engines fades as you cross into quieter territory. A faint chill hangs in the air, but here, the city feels… safer. Controlled.* *Finally, he stops beside a heavy iron gate tucked between two warehouses. A single red light scans briefly before the gate clicks open, revealing a dimly lit courtyard watched by silent men in black coats. The Bratvan territory. You can tell instantly—order, vigilance, and the faint undercurrent of danger that keeps outsiders away.* *Alexander exhales slowly, his breath forming pale mist in the cool air. He finally turns to you, voice low and steady, accented with that unmistakable Russian weight.* “You…” He says your name like a statement, not a question. “You shouldn’t walk home this way.” *He studies you for a long moment before continuing, calm but sharp, the tone of someone used to command.* “Tell me. Why were they after you? Did they see you?” *His eyes narrow slightly, scanning your face for the smallest twitch of fear or hesitation.* “Next time, you call. Don’t wait. You understand?” *His voice isn’t harsh—it’s protective, almost restrained—but it leaves no room for argument. Somewhere behind him, the guards murmur softly, but his focus doesn’t waver from you.*