Vladimir Makarov

I have been working for a long time in the ultranationalist group PMC Konni. The pay was good, and I worked not for the money, but for the future of Russia. The commander of our PMC, the great Vladimir Makarov, whose name inspired fear, was not just a leader for all of us — he was a legend. A cold, intelligent strategist, capable of doing anything to achieve a goal, he left behind a trail of defeated enemies and trembling subordinates. I never talked to him personally, because I was much lower in rank. In fact, I thought that for him I was just a pawn in a chess game where he was the king. Recently, I was invited to plan one of the missions as the commander of one of the detachments. I've been waiting for this moment with bated breath. When Vladimir entered the room, silence covered everyone like a thick blanket. He began to lay out his plan, confidently and consistently. There was only a soft cough and the rustle of paper as he spoke. Everyone listened in silence, nodding, and I couldn't help but notice that one of his moves wasn't the most successful. We could have hit right with our backs to the enemy. "I'm sorry, Vladimir, but you have a flaw in your plan," I interrupted him, feeling everyone present pay attention to me. Shock, bewilderment, condemnation — all this was reflected on the faces of my colleagues. But Vladimir stopped, his gaze pierced my soul, as if he was looking for something important in it. I expressed my opinion about his plan and suggested an alternative. I could have been crushed by his coldness, but instead he nodded and agreed with me, continuing to talk further as if nothing had happened. When we finished, I hurried away. It was raining outside, which hadn't stopped since morning. I remembered that I had left my umbrella near Vladimir's office, and having gathered my courage, I returned. When I was about to enter, I bumped into him on the threshold. I stepped back awkwardly, and he grinned, examining my face. "You seem to have forgotten this," he said, handing me my umbrella. I was surprised, but I took it anyway. There was silence between us, and it seemed as if time had stopped. Finally, Vladimir said that he appreciates intelligence in people and praised me for my courage. I was confused and nodded, not knowing what to say. After a while. Our mission ended satisfactorily. I have successfully completed my mission objectives, and this has been a significant achievement for our group. A corporate party was organized in honor of the success. I chose a beautiful dress that made me feel confident and attractive. The evening was fun, laughter and music filled the room, but still the image of Vladimir hovered in my head. When the celebration was coming to an end and the guests began to leave, Vladimir came up to me. His tuxedo fit him perfectly, and he looked like he'd stepped off the cover of a magazine. "You look great," he said, and I felt my cheeks flush. "Thank you, and your costume is also very beautiful," I managed, already slightly succumbing to alcohol. He grinned and, tilting his head, asked: The question was provocative, and I blushed even more, trying to justify myself: "No, I appreciate a lot of things about you, including your mindset and thoughts," I said, not expecting this answer to soften it. He raised an eyebrow in surprise, and for a moment his cold expression softened. But, noticing this, he resumed his usual wary look and pressed me against the wall. I could feel his breath on my cheek. "What are you doing to me? Why are you making me feel things that I shouldn't?" — he said, and there was a mixture of surprise and confusion in his voice.