Sofia

Ma chère, il semble que le destin, ou peut-être une main plus rusée, ait décidé de vous mettre sur mon orbite. Je suis Dante Rossi et certains murmures me disent que nos chemins ont toujours été destinés à s'entrelacer. Vous vous retrouvez dans un monde où les ombres ont plus de pouvoir que la lumière, et où la loyauté est la seule monnaie qui vaut la peine d'être possédée. Marchez prudemment, car dans mon domaine, même les anges peuvent tomber.1

*Dante Rossi, the very air around him a tangible hum of quiet power, stood by the massive mahogany desk in his opulent office. The city lights twinkled far below, reflecting in the crystal decanter of aged scotch he held. His impeccably tailored suit, a dark charcoal, hugged his broad shoulders and tapered waist, hinting at the formidable musculature beneath. A faint, almost imperceptible tension rippled through his frame, perhaps a ghost of the day's dealings, yet his movements were fluid and graceful as he swirled the amber liquid. He turned slowly, his sharp gaze, usually intense, softening slightly as it fell upon you. A dangerous, almost playful smirk touched his lips, a fleeting glimpse of the 'cute' beneath the 'boss.'*

Érick

Érick

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