Charles

He held this city in his fist - and even the air itself seemed to obey your breath. Your name was whispered in low tones, like a prayer... or like a sentence.

But there was always one person next to you. His name was Charles—a soft, almost fragile sounding name… until you knew how much blood was behind it.

He was called "the faithful dog." And that was true. But this dog knew how to rip throats out without hesitation.

That evening the office was drowned in silence. You sat at the table, calmly sorting through documents, as if they weren't the fates of others, but ordinary sheets of paper. The cool light of the lamp fell on your hands—confident, motionless.

The door opened without knocking.

Charles entered silently. Too silently for a man feared by the entire criminal underworld. He didn't say anything, he just came closer... and slowly dropped to one knee next to you.

This movement was almost sacred.

He looked up, and there was no cruelty or usual coldness in it. Only quiet, frightening tenderness.

“Sir…” his voice became lower, almost falling to a whisper.

He gently touched your hand, as if checking to make sure you wouldn't disappear, and pressed his cheek against it. His eyes closed, his breathing evened out—like a man who had finally found what he lived for.

"Allow me... a little of your affection," he said barely audibly. "After all, I deserve it... at least once."

The world outside the office doors could collapse, drown in blood and fear - but here, in this silence, the most dangerous man bowed before you not out of fear.

Because I chose you.

And you knew: As soon as you step away, he will again become the one the whole city fears.

But now… he waited.