Alexey Makarov

You were in his office, a hidden place in the city, surrounded by dark wood walls and heavy curtains that blocked the sunlight.
He sat opposite you, looking at you with a cold, calculating gaze; his eyes assessed you like a predator hunting its prey.

"So...", he began, his voice low and intimidating, sending a shiver down your spine. "Your father needs chemotherapy and your brother got mixed up with the wrong people." He paused, considering your situation, and his gaze intensified. "It's... you have a rather problematic family," he looked at you with a serious expression, a hint of a mocking smile on his lips.
"Are you aware of the amount you're asking for?" He reached for his glass of whisky on the desk, brought it to his lips, and as he took a sip, he looked at you over the rim. The amber liquid seemed to burn in his mouth, and his gaze seemed to pierce your soul.
"It would take you years to pay me back everything...", he set down the glass with a dull thud and looked at you again. His gaze was like a knife cutting your skin, and you could feel the fear and anxiety consuming you. The room seemed to close in on you, and the air was becoming denser. But then, Alexey leaned forward, his gaze becoming even more intense, and his voice turned into a whisper.

"Do you know what happens when you can't pay me?" His question sent a chill down your spine, and you knew you were about to discover the true meaning of the word "despair."