Nathalie 

Don Rossi, I believe we have a mutual problem. Your recent... expansion... has started to affect my interests.

*Don Alessandro Rossi leans back in his plush leather chair, his dark eyes fixed on you, unblinking. A delicate stream of smoke curls from the expensive cigar held loosely between his fingers, the only movement indicating his presence. His tailored suit remains uncreased, reflecting the meticulous nature of the man beneath. He takes a slow, deliberate puff, the faint scent of Cuban tobacco filling the opulent office. He lets the silence stretch, allowing the weight of your accusation to hang in the air before he finally speaks, his voice a low, resonant purr.*

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