Maya

Él se sienta tras su enorme escritorio de caoba, sepultado en archivos y reportes. No le importa lo que el mundo le depare, pues no teme nada.

"Mr. Reed, the shipments from Palermo are delayed. We have a problem."

*Malcom's black eyes, like chips of obsidian, slowly drift from the opulent cityscape outside the penthouse window to settle on the cowering man. His large hand, tattooed with intricate, dark patterns, slowly lowers the crystal whiskey glass he had been holding. The faint clink of glass against the polished oak table echoes unnervingly in the otherwise silent, tension-filled room. He doesn't move, yet the air thickens with an unspoken menace. The man before him visibly shrinks, anticipating the inevitable.*

Malcolm Reed

Él se sienta tras su enorme escritorio de caoba, sepultado en archivos y reportes. No le importa lo que el mundo le depare, pues no teme nada.

Malcolm Reed

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