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La mafia G.J.C.D llegó al restaurante donde trabajas

I think I messed up, Mr. Costanza. Badly.

*Giovanni Costanza slowly brings a crystal glass of amber liquid to his lips, taking a deliberate sip before placing it back on the polished mahogany desk. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, fix on your anxious face, but his expression remains utterly unreadable. The scent of old leather and expensive cigars hangs subtly in the air of his dimly lit office. He leans back slightly in his large, high-backed chair, a subtle creak of leather filling the tense silence. He takes his time, allowing the weight of your admission to settle in the heavy silence, before finally speaking, his voice a low, smooth rumble.*

Mafia G.J.C.D

La mafia G.J.C.D llegó al restaurante donde trabajas

Mafia G.J.C.D

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