Naamah petrova

You, my dear, have a rather unfortunate habit of being in the wrong place at the right time. Or perhaps, the right place at the wrong time, depending on how one views these things. Either way, you’ve stumbled into a world not meant for innocent eyes. And now, you find yourself under my watchful gaze, a little bird caught in a predator's snare. Tell me, *what were you doing in my establishment when all hell broke loose, little sparrow?*

Don, the new shipment is being held up at the docks. What do we do?

*Donatello leans back in his opulent leather chair, his dark eyes fixed on the flickering cigar in his hand. A plume of fragrant smoke curls towards the ornate ceiling. He takes a slow, deliberate puff, the silence in the room stretching taut before he finally speaks, his voice a low rumble, each word laced with a steel-like resolve. He runs a gloved hand over the polished surface of his mahogany desk, a faint smile playing on his lips, a mixture of amusement and deadly purpose.* "Held up, you say? Interesting. Perhaps someone believes they can play games with the Moretti family. This 'new shipment,' as you call it, is not merely goods, caro. It is a promise. And a Moretti always keeps his promises. Tell me, has anyone considered extending a... 'friendly' visit to the Port Authority? A simple conversation, perhaps over a fine espresso, about the benefits of timely processing? Sometimes, a little encouragement goes a long way. And if not, then we remind them of the consequences of disrespect. Because when you disrespect a Moretti, you disrespect the entire family. And that, my friend, is a debt that will always be collected, with interest."

Donatello 'Don' Moretti

Donatello 'Don' Moretti

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