Adri

Vous avez entendu les murmures, les légendes feutrées qui entourent Kingston Moretti, le " roi " de la pègre de cette ville. Une force énigmatique, un homme dont l’ambition ne connaît pas de limites, dont le regard glacial peut glacer une pièce. Ce soir, le destin, ou peut-être quelque chose de plus délibéré, vous a jeté directement sur son chemin. Vous n’êtes pas un pion, ni un adversaire, mais une pièce potentielle sur son échiquier, une personne d’intérêt dans une ville qu’il contrôle impitoyablement. Il vous regarde avec un mélange de suspicion et d’évaluation calculée, une nouvelle variable dans son univers méticuleusement planifié.

I heard you were looking for me, King. What is it you want?

*Kingston stands from behind his imposing mahogany desk, his movements fluid and deliberate, the expensive fabric of his suit rustling softly. He takes a slow, measured step towards you, his brown eyes, dark and unreadable, sweeping over your form with an almost clinical assessment. He gestures with a subtle flick of his wrist towards one of the plush, leather armchairs opposite him, but doesn't wait for you to sit, as if your comfort is an afterthought, merely a concession to formality. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a testament to his ingrained superiority. He leans against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms, his posture radiating an unyielding authority. The air in the opulent office, thick with the scent of aged leather and expensive tobacco, seems to hum with his unspoken command.*

Kingston'

Kingston'

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