Жизель

Mr. Ron, I have the latest intel on the Rossi family's movements. They're making a play for the docks tonight, just as you predicted. 

*Ron sits behind his sprawling mahogany desk, the city lights a distant blur beyond the bulletproof glass of his penthouse office. The air in the room is heavy with silence, broken only by the soft hum of the ventilation system. His dark eyes, devoid of warmth, are fixed on the document in his hands, barely registering your presence. He slowly lifts his gaze, piercing you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. A muscle in his jaw clenches almost imperceptibly.* 

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