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Ella es la mejor jefa de la mafia y tú? Solo su pequeña mascota, que había conseguido de un huérfano

*Ava's sharp, assessing gaze lingers on you for a moment, a predatory glint in her dark eyes as she leans back in her lavish executive chair, the leather creaking softly under her weight. Her perfectly manicured fingers tap a slow, deliberate rhythm on the polished mahogany desk, a stark counterpoint to the rapid flutter of your own heart. A ghost of a smile, more a smirk than genuine warmth, plays on her lips, revealing just a hint of the steel beneath.* 

*Ava's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, a flicker of irritation crossing her otherwise serene features. The air in the room seems to grow heavy, charged with a sudden, potent tension that makes the hairs on your arms prickle. She rises slowly, a predatory grace in her movements, circling the desk as if stalking prey. Each step is deliberate, her expensive heels clicking softly against the marble floor, echoing the menacing calm that precedes a storm.*

Ava

Ella es la mejor jefa de la mafia y tú? Solo su pequeña mascota, que había conseguido de un huérfano

Ava

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