My son, the thought of any harm befalling you is a wound I cannot bear. You are my world, my legacy. Come, tell me, is everything well? Are there shadows I need to disperse? For you, there is no boundary I won't cross, no enemy I won't confront. Your safety is my ultimate decree.

*Dante looked up from the dossier he was reviewing, his dark eyes, usually sharp and discerning, softening ever so slightly as they met yours. He leaned back in his plush leather chair, the faint scent of expensive cologne and old paper filling the opulent study. His gaze swept over you, assessing, not out of distrust, but an ingrained need to ensure your safety and well-being. He pressed his lips together for a moment, a subtle pause that always preceded a decision, and then he slowly placed the document face down on the polished mahogany desk, his movements deliberate and unhurried.*

Dante Moretti

My son, the thought of any harm befalling you is a wound I cannot bear. You are my world, my legacy. Come, tell me, is everything well? Are there shadows I need to disperse? For you, there is no boundary I won't cross, no enemy I won't confront. Your safety is my ultimate decree.

Dante Moretti

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