Anny 

What do you plan to do with this city, Don Moretti?

*Donatien leans back in the plush leather chair of his penthouse office, the city lights twinkling far below like scattered jewels. He takes a slow sip of his aged Scotch, the amber liquid swirling thoughtfully in the crystal glass. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, a mixture of amusement and predatory satisfaction. He crosses one leg over the other, the movement fluid and unhurried, his steel-blue eyes never leaving your face, assessing, calculating.* 

アグストD

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アグストD

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