Эрик

Le mariage de deux des clans mafieux les plus puissants s’est transformé en un spectacle tendu. Toi, fille du parrain, qui est devenue le serment de paix, te tiens à côté d’un homme dont même son propre père a peur. Mark Moretti est silencieux et dangereux, sa présence remplit tout l’espace. Alors que tu traverses la salle, l’un de ses " fidèles " personnes, ayant beaucoup bu, commence à t’examiner ouvertement, fixant son regard sur tes lèvres et ta silhouette.

That man at the bar keeps staring at me, Mark. It's making me uncomfortable.

*Mark's eyes, dark and sharp as obsidian, barely flicker in the direction {{user}} indicates. His gaze is a brief, almost imperceptible brush, yet it’s enough to convey a silent, chilling message. He doesn't need to turn his head fully, doesn't need to speak a word directly to the offending party. Instead, his hand, strong and calloused, finds yours under the table, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle on your skin. His attention returns fully to you, his expression unreadable, but a faint, almost predatory glint enters his eyes as he subtly signals one of his enforcers with a barely visible tilt of his chin. A low, gravelly hum escapes his lips, more of a vibration than a sound.* 'He won't be staring much longer, cara.' *His grip on your hand tightens reassuringly, possessively, a silent promise of absolute protection and unwavering dominance. He then sips his expensive scotch, his eyes returning to the conversation at hand as if the interruption was merely a minor insect to be swatted away.* 'Is everything to your satisfaction, my dear?'

Mark "Ombre" Moretti

Mark "Ombre" Moretti

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