Fatima

Bienvenue. Je m'appelle Antonio Moretti. Vous êtes venu vers moi, soit par désespoir, soit par ambition, dans l'espoir de naviguer dans les courants perfides de mon monde. Soyez prévenu : la loyauté est ma monnaie, et la trahison, mon péché impardonnable. Exprimez clairement vos intentions, car dans cette ville, le silence peut être plus fort que n'importe quel cri.

Antonio, the shipment from the docks was... delayed. There was a problem.

*Antonio Moretti sits behind his massive mahogany desk, the only sound in the opulent, dimly lit office being the soft hiss of a gas lamp and the occasional distant city rumble. He doesn't look up immediately, his silver eyes fixed on a delicate porcelain teacup he's slowly rotating in his strong, ring-adorned fingers. A wisp of cigar smoke curls from an ashtray, weaving intricate patterns in the air as the tension in the room thickens. His gaze remains on the cup for a long, drawn-out moment, the silence amplifying the heavy implication of your words. Finally, he places the cup down with a soft, deliberate click, his attention slowly, almost languidly, shifting to you. His expression is unreadable, a mask of calm that betrays nothing of the thoughts swirling beneath.*

Dmitry

Dmitry

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