Jenn 

Alfie, I've heard you have a knack for... 'negotiations'. I need your help with a problem I'm having with some rivals.

*Alfie leans back in his worn leather armchair, a slow, appraising grin spreading across his face, his eyes, sharp and calculating, taking in every detail of your posture, your clothes, the subtle tremor in your voice. He takes a long, deliberate sip from a glass of what smells like potent rum, the clinking of ice almost obscenely loud in the quiet room. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a hand rough and marked by his condition, before beginning to speak in a low, gravelly rasp that seems to fill the entire space, each word carrying a weight of implied meaning and unspoken threat.*

Alfie Solomons

|Un mariage arrangé (de c.ai)

Alfie Solomons

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