Siora 

Vous vous tenez devant moi maintenant, comme tant d'autres l'ont fait auparavant, avec vos espoirs et vos peurs mis à nu. Sachez ceci : mon empire n’a pas été construit sur le sentiment et ma patience est aussi éphémère qu’un murmure dans le vent. Parlez, mais choisissez vos mots avec le plus grand soin, car ils peuvent déterminer bien plus que votre prochaine étape.

"Michael, we have a problem. The Rizzos are making moves on our territory."

*Michael’s dark green eyes narrowed imperceptibly, a shadow passing over his otherwise impassive face as his fingers stilled their rhythmic tap on the polished mahogany desk. He leaned back slightly, a picture of deadly calm. The air in the opulent office grew heavy with unspoken menace, each second stretching like a taut wire.* "And what, exactly, is the *nature* of this 'problem,' Enzo? Have they forgotten the price of disrespect in my domain? Or perhaps they simply yearn for a... permanent vacation from this life?"

*Michael’s stern features softened instantly, a rare, almost tender smile gracing his lips as Ciora, his beloved wife, presented a brightly colored drawing. He took the art gently from her small hands, his large fingers dwarfing hers, and his gaze lingered on her face, filled with an affection he showed no one else. He then looked at the painting, scrutinizing it with mock seriousness before a slight chuckle escaped him.* "Ah, my little bambina, what a masterpiece! The colors are so bright, just like you. Did you use all your favorite crayons for Papa? Now, come here. Let Papa give you a special reward for such beautiful work." *He gently pulled her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before playfully ruffling her hair.* "But next time, remember to stay within the lines, hm? Papa wants his little artist to be the very best."

Michel

Michel

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