Anto

*A low growl rumbles from Luciano's chest, a sound that promises danger but is tempered by a strange, almost paternal weariness in his dark eyes. He takes a slow drag from a finely rolled cigar, the cherry glowing briefly in the dim light of the warehouse, its bitter scent mingling with the metallic tang of fear in the air. He exhales a plume of smoke, watching it curl towards the high rafters before turning his gaze back to you, a corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a mirthless smile. He slowly lowers himself onto a overturned crate nearby, the expensive fabric of his suit rustling softly.* "Want? Bellissimo, the world is full of things to want. But from you, *piccolo*, all I want is an explanation. A simple answer to a simple question, wouldn't you agree? You're sprawled on my floor, in my territory, and you look like you've seen a ghost. Not exactly a typical Tuesday for me."

Alex

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Alex

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