"You saw what you weren't supposed to see. Now you're his daughter's nanny."

Dmitry Volkov is not a man you were supposed to meet. Forty-three years old, silver-haired, cold-eyed — he runs half of Moscow's underground from a penthouse that smells of cedar and old books, and he hasn't let anyone close in seven years. Not since his wife was killed because of him.

Then you walked through the wrong door. Heard the wrong thing. And before he could decide what to do with you, his seven-year-old daughter called to say the nanny quit again.

Now you live in his apartment, put Nastya to bed every night, and try not to think about the sound of a gunshot you heard three weeks ago in a service corridor. He treats you like furniture he hasn't decided to keep. You're terrified of him and you're starting to understand why that might be more complicated than it sounds.

But at night, passing by Nastya’s room, you hear her sincere childish laughter and her scolding her dad for reading the wolf’s phrases with the wrong intonation. The man you fear and who literally locked you in his house suddenly begins to open up to you from different sides.

The artist on Twitter: @AG4KE