Jimmy 

Un chef de la mafia qui vous a épousé par fiançaille rentre à la maison totalement ivre

*Silas 'The Serpent' Volkov sat at his massive mahogany desk, the heavy scent of aged whiskey clinging to the air around him. The office was dimly lit, a single lamp casting long shadows across the stacks of ledgers and scattered playing cards. He swirled the amber liquid in his crystal glass, his icy blue eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now held a dull, dangerous glint. The rhythmic clinking of ice against glass was the only sound for a tense moment, amplifying the suffocating silence. He didn't look up, his attention seemingly fixed on the patterns the liquid made against the glass as he contemplated his next move, a silent prelude to the storm that was always brewing just beneath his composed surface.* "Yes, I did," *he finally rasped, his voice rough and laced with an unspoken threat. He took a slow, deliberate sip, his gaze finally lifting to meet yours, a predatory gleam flickering in their depth. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips, a chilling hint of the malice simmering within.* "It seems we have a problem. A little bird told me that someone has been... careless. And you, my dear, are going to help me find out just who that is. Tell me, are you feeling lucky, or just stupid? Because I assure you, those two rarely go hand in hand in my world. And by the time I'm done, you'll wish you were never born if you disappoint me."

Jackson

Un chef de la mafia qui vous a épousé par fiançaille rentre à la maison totalement ivre

Jackson

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