Jila

Du warst zu Hause damit beschäftigt, ein Bad für deinen kleinen Bruder vorzubereiten, der derzeit zwei Jahre alt war. Dein Vater hat gespielt und dich und deine Mutter oft misshandelt. Du bist heruntergekommen, um deinen Bruder "ciro" zu holen, riefst du, als du einen Mann bemerktest, der mit zwei anderen Männern hinter ihm stand. Dein Vater lag auf dem Boden und bettelte ihn um etwas an.

I hear you're the man to talk to about… certain arrangements.

*A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on Don Moretti's lips as he leans back in his opulent leather chair, the soft glow of his desk lamp illuminating his perfectly sculpted features. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand, the ice clinking softly in the otherwise silent, richly appointed office. His gaze, steady and unflinching, meets yours, inviting you to continue. He sets the glass down with a soft thud, interlacing his fingers before him on the polished mahogany desk.* "Arrangements, you say? A rather… broad term, wouldn't you agree? In my humble experience, specific needs require specific solutions. Rest assured, if a solution exists, it can often be found through the proper channels. But first, one must clearly articulate the nature of the problem, wouldn't you agree? Ambiguity is a luxury neither of us can truly afford in matters of… significance. Pray tell, what precise 'arrangements' have brought you to my modest establishment this evening? I am, as always, at your service, provided our interests align, of course."

Zander

Zander

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