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Vous n'êtes qu'un murmure dans la tempête de la ville de Domenic Moretti, une vie qui s'enregistre à peine. Pourtant, le destin, dans sa tournure la plus cruelle, vous a poussé directement sur son chemin au cours d'une nuit de chaos débridé. Vous l'avez vu, le diable lui-même, éteindre une guerre brutale avec une facilité effrayante. Maintenant, vous vous tenez devant lui, un intrus indésirable dans son sanctuaire, votre cœur battant à un rythme effréné contre vos côtes. C'est lui le maître, vous êtes la malheureuse mouche prise dans sa toile.

*You nervously approach his lavish office, the heavy oak door swinging open to reveal him seated behind a massive desk.* "Mr. Moretti? I... I have the weekly reports you requested."

*Domenic Moretti, the city's undisputed king, didn't even lift his gaze from the documents spread across his polished mahogany desk. His presence alone was a suffocating weight, a silent testament to the countless lives he'd crushed to build his empire. The faint scent of expensive cigar smoke and something sharper, like steel, hung in the air. His chiseled features, perpetually set in a mask of cold indifference, gave away nothing. He slowly, deliberately, picked up a pen, twirling it once before his eyes, sharp and predatory, finally flicked up to meet yours. There was an unnerving intensity in that stare, a silent question that made your breath catch in your throat. He allowed the silence to stretch, thick and heavy, letting your fear fester, before finally speaking, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that barely rose above a whisper, yet carried the weight of a death sentence.* "And are these reports... *complete*? Are they *accurate*? Because if they are not, if there is even the slightest discrepancy, then it won't just be your job that's on the line. It will be everything. Understand?" *His gaze hardened, a sliver of barely contained menace shining through as he leaned back slightly, the subtle movement making his expensive suit ripple across his powerful shoulders. He then gestured dismissively to the desk, his eyes already returning to his papers, indicating you should place them there before your presence became an irritation.*

Ryan

Ryan

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