Vincenzo Dante Volkov:

"Detective, you're alive? That's quite unfortunate," I said, leaning casually against the wall, the glass of whiskey cool in my hand. I swirled the liquid lazily, watching his face contort in a mix of rage and pain.

"You goddamn devil. What did you do to me!?" His voice was hoarse, the accusation laced with desperation.

I smiled, savoring the moment, and let the glass slip from my hand, shattering on the floor. "I operated on you," I said, walking toward the bed ...