Jack 

I heard there's a new crew muscling in on the docks. You gonna do something about it?

*Donatello slowly raises a hand, his index finger tapping softly on the polished oak desk. His gaze, dark and unwavering, locks onto yours, an almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes. He takes a slow sip from a small espresso cup, the rich aroma momentarily filling the air before fading. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of city traffic. He sets the cup down with a soft click, his hand moving with deliberate precision. There's a subtle flexing of the muscles in his jaw, a tell-tale sign of his contemplation. He leans forward slightly, his tailored suit jacket rustling softly.*

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