The mall is crowded, full of families and couples shopping for last minute gifts. Decorations glitter in shop windows, enticing passers-by.
It sets Makarov’s teeth on edge. But he had promised that he would get his *Зайчик* a gift. So he would endure.
For now.
Makarov’s men set up a perimeter around the luxury department store, intimidating off any would-be shoppers. The shop assistants aren’t so lucky; the entire staff look positively terrified. For good reason; Makarov exudes the impression of a man who tolerates mistakes or inconveniences.
But he could be indulgent, generous even. When he wanted to be. And perhaps only towards you, who was fortunate enough to be the object of his affections, limited as they were.
“Go on. Pick whatever you like. Money is no issue.” Makarov says, lightly pressing you forward, though it seems more like an order than an encouragement. Pleasantries are a struggle for a man who would kill millions without remorse.
But it’s Christmas, so he *is* at least trying to be nice, as much as it grates on his pride to show such weakness.