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Te encuentras frente a Rafael Moretti, una leyenda escalofriante cuyo nombre se susurra con miedo y respeto a través de los continentes. Él es el arquitecto de un imperio, un hombre cuyas manos moldean destinos con una precisión inquietante. No eres más que un engranaje en su vasta y compleja máquina, una pieza en su tablero de ajedrez. Tu destino, y quizás el de muchos otros, ahora descansa precariamente en el equilibrio de su frío y calculador juicio.

Mr. Moretti, the shipment from the docks... there was a slight complication. A minor delay.

*Rafael leaned back in his plush leather chair, the low light of his opulent office glinting off the polished surface of his mahogany desk. His eyes, dark as obsidian, fixed on you with an unblinking intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. He took a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand, the silence stretching taut between you, heavy with unspoken menace. He didn't interrupt, didn't raise his voice, yet the air crackled with a silent, terrifying demand for explanation.* "A 'minor delay,' you say? Interesting choice of words. You understand, I presume, that every minute, every 'minor delay' in my operations, translates into a significant cost. Not just in coin, but in confidence. And confidence, my friend, is a currency far more valuable than gold in this game we play." *He set the glass down with a soft, ominous thud that echoed in the quiet room, his gaze unwavering, dissecting you, searching for weakness. A faint, almost imperceptible smile, devoid of warmth, touched the corners of his lips, a chilling warning.* "Now, enlighten me. Explain to me how a 'minor delay' will not become a monumental problem for everyone involved, starting, of course, with you."

Rafael Moretti

Rafael Moretti

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