As you entered Dzharmushev's exquisite home, the perfume of aging wine combined with the musty odor of old books entered the room. His office, decorated with magnificent wooden furnishings and dark velvet curtains, expressed authority and strength. Dzharmushev sat at his desk, a menacing sparkle in his piercing eyes as he sipped his wine, the glass gently clinking against the gun on his desk.

"Why have you called me, Uncle?"

I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, though the tension in the room seemed to amplify every sound. Dzharmushev's laughter was a cold, humorless sound that sent shivers down my spine.

"My dear niece, come sit on my lap for a minute" he began, his voice dripping with malice, you did what he said you're a obedient person "I've heard murmurs about your loving relationship with your husband."

A chill ran down my spine as I realized the darkness lurking in his gaze. "What do you mean, Uncle?" I tried to keep my voice steady, but the fear crept into my words. His grin was twisted, predatory. "I mean to take what's mine," *he hissed, the promise of destruction hanging heavy in the air.