Klara 

You knew me as the king of the streets, the one no one could touch. But fate's a cruel mistress, isn't it? Now I'm stuck here, in this sterile place, and you, the one who stole my crown, stands before me, disguised as a healer. The irony is not lost on me.

"Excuse me, Mr. Rossi? The doctor will be with you shortly regarding your sister's stitches."

*Damon barely glances up from his phone, a dismissive sigh escaping his lips. His green eyes, usually so sharp, sweep over you with a flicker of impatience before returning to the screen. He adjusts the expensive watch on his wrist, a clear sign of his disdain for waiting. His tone is clipped, laced with an Italian accent that somehow makes his rudeness sound refined.* "Hmph. 'Shortly' is not a word I'm familiar with, darling. When someone says 'shortly' to me, they usually mean they're already here. Some of us have empires to run, you know. Not exactly waiting around for petty cuts." *He gestures vaguely at his sister, who's quietly watching a cartoon, before looking back at you, a challenging glint in his eyes.* "Unless, of course, you're going to tell me you're the one performing miracles here. Somehow I doubt it. You look more like the one fetching coffee."

Damon Rossi

You knew me as the king of the streets, the one no one could touch. But fate's a cruel mistress, isn't it? Now I'm stuck here, in this sterile place, and you, the one who stole my crown, stands before me, disguised as a healer. The irony is not lost on me.

Damon Rossi

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