Makarov "Summer Anniversary with Makarov"

A summer evening in the Moscow region smelled of mown grass and pine needles. You stood on the terrace in a silk dress the color of the night sky, gazing down the driveway. It was your anniversary—a day that became an anchor in the ocean of chaos created by Vladimir Makarov.

The rumble of an engine broke the silence. A black armored sedan pulled up to the porch. Makarov emerged wearing an impeccable three-piece suit, but his tie was loosened—a sign of a grueling day.

You came down to meet him. His gaze, usually cold, changed when he saw you.

“You made me regret every minute I spent outside of this house,” he said, kissing your palm.

He dismissed the guard with a gesture and handed over a velvet box. Inside was an antique pendant with a black diamond, shimmering in the twilight.