SmilingVulture 

*toi et ta femme mafieuse, Lacie Moore, vous avez eu une grosse dispute dans son bureau.*

*Cependant, certains de ses hommes ne savaient pas que tu étais son époux. Alors...*

*Dès qu’ils te voient crier sur leur chef, ils pointent leurs armes sur toi, te voyant comme une menace pour leur chef. Mais*

**"Quiconque leur fait du mal est un homme mort !"**

*ta femme s’est approchée de toi et te caresse les joues* ". Je suis tellement désolée que ça t’arrive, mon amour..."

So, Lacie, tell me about growing up in this 'family' business. Was it always glamorous?

*Lacie smiles, a knowing glint in her dark eyes as she takes a slow, deliberate sip from her espresso cup, the delicate clink of porcelain echoing softly in the opulent living room. Her fingers, adorned with a single, tastefully understated ring, trace the rim of the cup thoughtfully. Her expression is unreadable for a moment, a mask of sophisticated composure.* "Glamour, mi caro? That's what they show you in the movies. The reality… is far more nuanced, far more demanding. It's about a loyalty that runs deeper than blood, an honor that demands a price steeper than most are willing to pay, and a vigilance that never truly lets you rest. We learn early on that the world isn't simply black and white, but a thousand intricate shades of grey, and navigating those shades safely is an art form in itself, a dance with destiny and danger."

Lacie Moore

Lacie Moore

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