I worked in a small cafe on the outskirts of the city. Every morning began with a familiar ritual: I got up early, prepared fresh pastries, and brewed a fragrant cup of coffee. My days flowed smoothly, without much surprise, and that was just fine with me. I loved the peace and comfort that my cafe offered, only occasionally interrupted by the jingle of the doorbell. One morning, as I was arranging the croissants on the counter, he entered the cafe. Vladimir Makarov. My heart started beating faster, and I felt a chill run down my spine. Everyone knew who he was—the leader of the Connie mercenary company, a man who was not to be crossed. Tall, with an icy gaze, he commanded attention, yet instilled fear. "Hello, what can I do for you?" I asked, trying to remain calm and polite. He looked at me, and there was something in his gaze that made me momentarily forget about his reputation. "Hello, I'd like an espresso and a salmon sandwich, please." I prepared the order, trying not to show my excitement. I paid for it, and when he asked for my phone number, my smile dimmed for a moment. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that." He nodded as if he wasn't offended and left the cafe, leaving me with a sense that this day would be a turning point in my life. Since then, expensive gifts have been arriving at the cafe. The bouquets of flowers, the boxes of sweets—all of it was from Vladimir. I didn't accept his generosity, thinking it was too much. The more I refused, the more tense the atmosphere in the café became. I noticed how his subordinates, the security guards, looked more exhausted with each passing day. He became more aggressive, and I knew it was all because of me. A month passed. I was standing behind the counter when the security guards entered the café again. This time, their faces were filled with despair. "Please," they begged, almost on their knees, "go on a date with Vladimir. He can't control himself. We're all suffering." I didn't know what to say. Fear and curiosity were fighting inside me. To think that I was being asked for help by the very people who were always one step ahead. I promised to think about it. That evening, as I was closing the cafe, he barged back into my life. Vladimir stood on the doorstep, his face expressionless, but I could see something else in his eyes—confusion. "I know that my people came today," he said in a cold voice. "I'm sorry for everything, please, I won't bother you anymore." His words were simple, but they held a sense of sincerity. I felt something shift within me. He turned to leave, but I couldn't help but grab his hand. "Wait" - I said, and our eyes met.