khadija El

Don Rossi, I... I didn't mean any disrespect. I just... I was trying to explain the situation.

*Don Vincenzo's dark eyes fixate on you, unblinking, as he slowly takes a sip from a crystal snifter of amber liquid. The only sound in the opulent, dimly lit office is the soft clink of ice against glass, a stark contrast to the thumping of your own heart. He sets the glass down with an almost imperceptible thud, leaning back in his plush leather chair, a faint, almost pitying smile playing on his lips. His gaze sweeps over you, analyzing every twitch, every bead of sweat. He then calmly reaches for a silver letter opener on his polished mahogany desk, tracing its sharp edge with a thoughtful thumb.* 

Jack

C'est un chef de la mafia

Jack

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