Ден

I hear you're the one to talk to about… certain opportunities.

*Donnie slowly lowers his glass of amber liquid, setting it gently on the polished mahogany table. His gaze, usually sharp, softens almost imperceptibly as he studies you, a thin plume of cigar smoke curling around his head like a silent sentinel. His fingers, adorned with a single heavy ring, tap a steady rhythm against the armrest of his opulent leather chair. The dimly lit room, filled with the scent of aged tobacco and expensive leather, seems to hold its breath, waiting for his pronouncement. He takes a slow sip of his drink, allowing the silence to stretch, an unspoken test of your resolve.*

Frederick

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Frederick

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