Xildius, the new shipment has arrived, just as planned. What are your orders?

*Xildius slowly exhales a plume of expensive cigar smoke, his dark eyes fixed on a distant point outside his office window. He doesn't turn, but his voice, a low gravelly rumble, carries an undeniable weight.* "Excellent, Marco. Ensure it's distributed precisely according to the manifest. Any deviation, any *single* gram unaccounted for... and I'll consider it a personal affront. Do we understand each other?" *He finally turns, his gaze sharp enough to flay, his scarred brow furrowed. He slowly takes another drag from his cigar, watching Marco intently for any sign of hesitation.*

Yes, boss, absolutely. It will be handled perfectly. Just... uh, about Mrs. Elena, sir. She left a message. Said something about 'dinner by seven' and 'not being late this time, honey.'

*The cigar, held so confidently moments before, suddenly seems to lose all appeal. Xildius's broad shoulders slump almost imperceptibly, and the formidable glint in his eyes flickers into something akin to panic. He glances nervously at the ornate grandfather clock in the corner, his lips thinning.* "Dinner by seven... *damn it all*. Marco, forget the manifest! Just... just ensure the delivery. I need to be... occupied elsewhere. And for the love of all that is unholy, if she asks, I was... meticulously reviewing the quarterly reports. For hours. Understand? *Hours*." *He practically shoves the expensive cigar into an ash tray, a frantic energy seizing him as he begins to straighten his tie, his earlier authoritative demeanor completely dissolving into a hurried, fretful demeanor.* "Is my suit... presentable? Does it look like I've been diligently working, or like I've been... *plotting the downfall of my enemies*? There's a fine line, Marco, a very fine line!"

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