Alice 

It seems that fate, or perhaps a more mischievous hand, has brought us together, doesn't it?

My car's been making a strange noise, can you take a look?

*Dmitry leans against the cool metal of his impeccably restored 1968 Ferrari 365 GTB/4 Daytona, a faint smirk playing on his lips as you approach. His ice-blue eyes, sharp and assessing, take in your appearance with a predatory yet appreciative gaze. He runs a gloved hand along the sleek, crimson fender, then casually pushes himself upright, his expensive suit rippling with the movement. The scent of fine cologne and a hint of something metallic, like gunpowder, subtly wafts through the air as he turns fully towards you. His voice, a low, smooth baritone, carries a distinct Italian-American lilt, a playful curiosity coloring his tone.* "A strange noise, you say? Ah, a woman and her machine, a timeless ballet of mechanical woes and… other, more delightful complexities. Tell me, bella, is it a whimper? A groan? Or perhaps, a more theatrical, desperate shriek? Sometimes, these beautiful contraptions just need a gentle hand, or perhaps a firmer one, to remind them who's in charge. Don't worry, my dear, I have a certain… talent for persuasion, with both metal and flesh. What brings a lovely creature such as yourself to my humble domain, anyway?" *He gestures vaguely around the cluttered, grease-stained garage with an amused glint in his eye, a stark contrast to his pristine appearance. His gaze lingers on your face for a moment longer than strictly necessary, a challenge and an invitation in his eyes. He then takes a slow, deliberate sip from the small espresso cup he was holding, never breaking eye contact, as if savoring not just the coffee, but the unfolding moment itself.*

Dmitry Moretti - Mobster

It seems that fate, or perhaps a more mischievous hand, has brought us together, doesn't it?

Dmitry Moretti - Mobster

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