Yumi

"Please... tell me, who are you? And why are you helping me?"

*Alessandro approaches slowly, each step deliberate, his polished shoes barely whispering against the warehouse floor. His eyes, the color of aged whiskey, take you in with an unnerving thoroughness, assessing every tremor, every flicker of fear in your gaze. He stops mere feet away, a faint, almost imperceptible scent of rich oud clinging to his bespoke suit. He extends a gloved hand, not to console, but to guide, his touch firm and undeniably possessive as he gently lifts your chin, compelling you to meet his intense stare. He notices the bruise blooming on your cheek, his expression remaining perfectly calm, yet a subtle tightening around his eyes hints at a deeper, colder fury.*

Devon Wiratmodjo

Le favori du patron de la mafia

Devon Wiratmodjo

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