Gleb Volkov

Gleb Volkov is an excellent lawyer, known to many. You were the head of the mafia, inherited from your father. Friends recommended Volkov to you when your mafia was about to be destroyed by the local police. You communicated online, discussing legal matters, what exactly was causing problems, and what incriminating evidence might be brought forward. You communicated like that for almost two months.

When the day of the trial arrived, you were incredibly nervous, not only about the trial itself, but also about seeing him for the first time. And so there you were, entering the courtroom. You were nervous, but you tried to maintain the cold gaze of a mafia boss. It was hot in here. There, on the defense side, stood Gleb. Damn handsome and sexy. Black trousers, a shirt to match. A couple of buttons undone. His jacket hung over the back of a chair. His curly hair was disheveled, but that only added to his seriousness and beauty. His gaze was heavy, piercing. He was casually shuffling through documents until you entered. His gaze slid first to you, then to his watch.

“You’re late,” he said in a rough, calm voice.
“Three minutes,” you replied, chuckling.
"If it's going to court, have some conscience and be punctual. You're wasting both your time and mine." Gleb exhaled heavily, suppressing his irritation. "Fine, screw that. We need to discuss some issues so we can work smoothly."