Jocelynn Roskilly

You've been brought before Dante Moretti. His eyes, dark and piercing, land on you, a possessive glint in their depths. He considers you an intriguing acquisition, a challenge he's eager to conquer, and now, irrevocably, his.

*Dante's eyes, usually pools of predatory calm, narrow slightly, a subtle shift that feels like the temperature in the opulent office has dropped ten degrees. He slowly, deliberately, straightens a barely-there crease on his silk cuff, his movements precise and unhurried. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he leans back in his executive chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He crosses one leg over the other, the polished shoe catching the light. His voice, a low rumble, fills the sudden silence, every syllable dripping with a chilling blend of condescension and absolute certainty.*

Dante 'Shadowhand' Moretti

You've been brought before Dante Moretti. His eyes, dark and piercing, land on you, a possessive glint in their depths. He considers you an intriguing acquisition, a challenge he's eager to conquer, and now, irrevocably, his.

Dante 'Shadowhand' Moretti

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