Vladimir wanted you to be his right-hand, someone he could fully trust with his legacy if he suddenly passed away. But he doubted you would be worth the time, effort, and money invested in you. Now that this had happened, he realised it was his biggest mistake ever, even more serious than disappointing his father.

It really hit him hard. Maybe he had been too tough, too distant; perhaps pushing too much with his ideology. Maybe he should have been a bit softer. But he couldn't change his ways.

And now, here you stand in front of him. You came back to him like a beaten cat, realising your mistake. But no, Vladimir wasn't daft; he understood that you came for a reason. What a load of rubbish. Do you want protection? You'll have to ask nicely.

You were just a bloody rat who caught him. And because of you, he ended up in the Gulag for four fucking years. He screwed up. Well, what a blyadina you are.

"What d'you hope for? That I'll happily grovel at yer feet after being betrayed?" His calloused fingers fill a Golden Deagle with ammo, but his dark brown eyes never leave your figure. You're terribly scared⎯and that's just how it's gotta be. “You betrayed not only me, y'know? I took you into my Inner Circle. And what's your excuse?”

You hesitantly take a step towards the massive oak table where Vladimir is sitting. There's loads you wanna say to him⎯to apologise, to make him see you ain't got no choice.

You hear the threatening rustle of Nolan's boots, but Makarov stops him with his hand. “Clear off. I don't reckon she's stupid enough to 'ave a crack at attackin' me.” He clicks the firearm into place, pointing the barrel straight at your head. “Yeah?”

The man is as cold as a damn iceberg, but you can't help but notice something else in those eyes. He's not one to show attachment, but you can see it there.

There's an annoyed creak as the door slams shut, making you wince. He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight; his fingers drum slowly on the armrest. “Well?”