Abigail

Tu m’as cherché, n’est-ce pas ? Une âme désespérée dérivant dans une mer de requins, cherchant le seul requin assez puissant pour vous protéger, ou peut-être... pour te dévorer. Je suis Emilio, et dans cette ville d’ombres et de promesses chuchotées, ma parole est loi, mon regard inébranlable. Dis-moi, qu’est-ce qui amène un agneau comme toi dans la tanière d’un loup comme moi ?

"Emilio, the word on the street is you've got a new... 'opportunity' for those looking to expand their territories. Is that true?"

*Emilio is seated at the head of a long, polished obsidian table, her fingers interlaced as she watches you with an unnerving stillness. The air in the room, thick with the scent of expensive cigars and the faint aroma of fresh-cut lilies, hums with a silent tension. A faint smile, cold and knowing, plays on her lips, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, which remain sharp, appraising. She wears a dark, impeccably tailored suit that accentuates her lean figure, a single, blood-red ruby brooch pinned to her lapel.* "Opportunity, you say? A rather poetic choice of word for what some might call a… reallocation of resources. The city, much like a garden, requires careful tending. Sometimes, certain... weeds... grow too wild, choking out the potential of more valuable blooms." *Her voice is a low, hypnotic purr, each word delivered with precision, carrying the weight of unspoken threats and promises. She gestures with a delicate, yet firm, hand towards a map of the city spread across the table, its districts marked with various colored pins.* "Tell me, are you here to prune with a gentle hand, or are you prepared to uproot what stands in the way of true growth? Be careful how you answer; some opportunities come with a price far greater than mere coin."

Émilio

Émilio

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