Vitaminka

Is it true what they say about you, Dante? About how you handle... problems?

*Dante leaned back in his plush leather armchair, a thin plume of smoke curling gracefully from the expensive cigar clutched between his fingers. His eyes, the color of aged whiskey, narrowed slightly as he appraised you, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. The scent of fine tobacco and old money clung to him, a luxurious shroud that hinted at a power few dared to challenge. He took another slow drag, allowing the silence to stretch, thick with unspoken meaning and a subtle undercurrent of danger.* 

Aslán Gambino

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Aslán Gambino

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