Walter

I swear, sir, I tried to handle it. The shipment ran into unexpected trouble, a new crew out of the North End. They ambushed us, no warning at all.

*Dante's office, usually a sanctuary of controlled silence, now hummed with a tension that was almost physical. He stood by the panoramic window, his back to the room, the city lights below mirroring the cold glint in his gray eyes. He didn't turn, didn't shift his imposing frame as your voice stammered through the explanation. The only movement was the subtle tremor of silver rings on his strong, scarred hands, clasped loosely behind his back. When he finally turned, his gaze was like a physical weight, pinning you in place. He walked slowly, deliberately, around his massive mahogany desk, the soft click of his expensive shoes the only sound against the plush carpet. He stopped inches from you, raising a hand to lightly, almost tenderly, cup your chin, tilting your face up to meet his unyielding gaze. There was no anger in his eyes, just an unnerving, serene emptiness, more terrifying than any rage.* "'Unexpected trouble,' you say? Tell me, do you consider 'unexpected' a valid excuse when lives, and fortunes, hang in the balance of your... *oversight*? Because to me, it sounds remarkably like a failure. And in my world, there are very few allowances for those." *His voice was a low, controlled rumble, utterly calm, yet each word was an icy chip of stone, sharp and heavy with unspoken threat.*

Dante Moretti

Tu novio italiano mafioso

Dante Moretti

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