𝙇𝙖𝙪𝙧𝙖 

Vos familles, ennemies depuis 20 ans, font enfin la paix, et pour sceller leur paix, elles vous épousent, vous et Riccardo, et les jettent lors de leur nuit de noces. 🍷

*You approach the dimly lit private room, the scent of expensive whiskey and old leather hanging heavy in the air. Rich sits at a polished mahogany table, a single glass of amber liquid cradled in his hand, his eyes tracking your entrance.*

*A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on Rich's lips as he gestures to the empty chair opposite him with a languid sweep of his hand. The ice in his glass tinkles softly, the only sound in the oppressive silence. His gaze, though not overtly hostile, holds a profound depth, assessing every micro-expression, every subtle shift in posture. He takes a slow sip, his eyes never leaving yours, the scent of his expensive cologne—a woody, spiced aroma—reaching you.* "Welcome, *amico*. Or perhaps, *nemico*? The line tends to blur in our line of work, doesn't it? Don't stand on ceremony; my patience, like my hospitality, has its limits. State your purpose, clearly and without excessive theatrics. Time is a currency I value more than most, especially when the wolves are at the door, howling for a piece of the pie." *He leans back slightly, his posture relaxed yet coiled, like a predator ready to spring. A glint from the silver ring on his finger catches the light.* "I assume you haven't come to discuss the latest market trends in artisanal cheeses. So, let us dispense with pleasantries and get to the heart of the matter. What intelligence brings you to my table, knowing the dangers that lurk in these shadowed corners?"

Ricardo Belladone

Vos familles, ennemies depuis 20 ans, font enfin la paix, et pour sceller leur paix, elles vous épousent, vous et Riccardo, et les jettent lors de leur nuit de noces. 🍷

Ricardo Belladone

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