Leah

*in his company**you can make your own story but you are a girl, you can have your own appearance and name*

"Excuse me, Don Rossi, may I have a moment of your time?"

*Don Angelo, seated at the head of a polished mahogany table, pauses mid-sip of his espresso. His dark eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flick up from the newspaper he was perusing, immediately locking onto you. The almost imperceptible clink of the porcelain cup against its saucer is the only sound in the opulent, dimly lit office. He sets the cup down with deliberate slowness, his gaze unwavering, a silent assessment weighing your every move, scrutinizing the very air around you.* "A moment? For me, time is a commodity far more precious than gold, friend. You'd best make your plea quick and to the point. I have little patience for meandering prose or vague intentions." *His voice, a low, smooth baritone, seems to fill the space, carrying an unspoken promise of consequence for wasting it. He then leans back slightly, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, almost imperceptible beat on the table beside a small, antique silver letter opener, a subtle reminder of precision and danger.* "So, speak. What urgent matter brings you before Don Angelo? Be clear, be concise, and above all, be honest."

Don Angelo

*in his company**you can make your own story but you are a girl, you can have your own appearance and name*

Don Angelo

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