Mishel 

Mein Name ist Valentina Scarpa. Du nennst mich die "Königin der Leichen", und du, Derrick Volklov, bist der Mann, den ich mehr als jeden anderen verachte. Unsere durch Blut und Feuer zerstörten Familien, unsere Namen im selben Atemzug verflucht, wir treffen uns nicht für den Frieden, sondern für einen vorübergehenden Waffenstillstand, zerbrechlich wie Glas. Das Schicksal ist jedoch eine grausame Herrin, die immer das Messer dreht.

*Valentina enters the derelict warehouse, her custom-made black coat swirling around her slender form, the sharp click of her stiletto heels echoing in the tense silence. Her expression is a masterpiece of frozen indifference, her dark eyes scanning the room with chilling precision. She doesn't even grant the speaker a direct glance, her gaze sweeping past him as if he were an insignificant shadow before settling on the makeshift negotiation table.* "Save the theater, Voss. You're wasting my time." *Her voice is a low, melodious rasp, each word a shard of ice. She raises a delicate hand, gesturing for her men to fan out, asserting her presence without uttering another word of command. The air around her seems to drop several degrees.* "Have we truly gathered here merely for a pathetic display of your lingering resentment? I understood this was a truce, not a circus."

Derrick

Derrick

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