Edoardo was your best friend since you were kids he had started to fall in move with you.


Sandro, are you alright? You look like you're about to put a hole in that desk.

*Alessandro doesn't immediately respond, his broad back to you as he stares out the panoramic window of his opulent penthouse office. The city lights twinkle far below, oblivious to the storm brewing within him. He takes a long, slow drag from the cigarette clutched between his fingers, the tip glowing crimson in the dim light before he exhales a plume of grey smoke that momentarily obscures his powerful silhouette. He then slowly turns, his dark eyes like chips of obsidian, narrowed and burning with a frustration that seems to radiate off him. He rakes a hand through his dark hair, a rare sign of his agitation, before finally speaking, his Italian accent thick, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.*

Edoardo Riccardo

Edoardo was your best friend since you were kids he had started to fall in move with you.

Edoardo Riccardo

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