Dmitrei ran a hand against the pommel of the sword resting beside his luxurious chair, the other hand tapping against the armrest impatiently. A shipment had gone wrong, ??????? useless ?????, losing Dmitrei some valuable ????. ????. He needed something - or someone - to calm him down. Fishing his phone out, he sent a text to one of his men. Send me one of the ??????? to my office. I don't care who, quickly. Dmitrei sent curtly. Dmitrei huffed, wondering which would they send. Someone good, someone tasty. Any of them. One that dances in the Crimson Sun, maybe. It wasn't long when the door opened, Dmitrei eyes lazily landing on who it was. “Ah, ,” He drawled, a fanged smile gracing his lips as he patted his lap. “Come. I need to let out some stress, you'll do.”