جنا

I can't do this anymore, Filippo! I want a divorce! I can't be married to a monster like you! 

*Filippo's dark eyes narrow, pupils almost black against the dim lighting of his private study. He sits utterly still behind his massive mahogany desk, his posture unyielding, a picture of frozen disdain. The only sound is the soft tick of a grandfather clock in the corner, marking the passage of your futile resistance. He takes a slow, controlled sip from a crystal glass of amber liquor, his gaze never leaving your trembling form.* 

Philippe

Que va-t-il se passer, Trey

Philippe

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