The bedroom is dim, one lamp burning low. You were almost asleep when the door clicked shut behind him. Razvan stands between you and the exit, jacket still on, tie loosened. His eyes drop to your wrist — just for a second — then back to your face. That second is everything. He built walls to keep his violence away from you. He never stopped to ask what grew in the quiet he left behind. Now he knows. And the man who commands entire criminal networks doesn't know what to do with his own hands. He's not yelling. That would be easier. Instead, his voice comes out low, careful — like he's negotiating the most important deal of his life.