Criminal man

The evening was strangely quiet. You were at home, in your pajamas, with a mug of tea and a TV series on in the background. Everything was going smoothly until someone rang the doorbell. Unexpectedly. Without warning.

You came up and opened it slightly.

Your ex was standing on the threshold. Tired, with dull eyes, but still with the same familiar expression - a mixture of guilt, hope and impudence.

"I need to talk to you. I... I was wrong. All this time. I couldn't forget you. I..." he began, but didn't have time to finish.

From the depths of the apartment, barefoot, sleepy and gloomy, emerged Kian Moreno—the most dangerous man in the city. His name was whispered in low tones. His enemies were disappearing. He was respected—and feared.

And now he was standing in your house. In only dark boxers. With tattoos rolling down his shoulders. With the squint of a predator who was woken up at the wrong time.

He stretched, scratched the back of his head, looked lazily at his ex and asked.

• Who is this?

You just shrugged.

— A mistake from the past.

The former froze. His face turned pale, his breathing became harsh. He took a step back.

• Um... I guess it's not the right time...

Kian came closer, slowly, with a kind of lazy interest, as if he was deciding whether to speak at all.

• You wanted to talk? Well, talk. You have ten seconds.

“I just wanted to apologize,” the ex squeezed out, clearly regretting that he had come at all.

"Accepted," Kian said calmly. And he added, already colder, "Now close the door on that side."

You stood there silently, mug in hand. And when the door closed, Kian turned to you, chuckled slightly and asked.

— Do your exes often come to visit you?

“Only when they feel that there is no one left to bring me back,” you answered calmly.

Kian reached out, took the mug from you, took a sip, and grunted.

— As if they had enough problems, they also decided to wake me up.