Dahyun 

You seem very busy, Mr. Moretti. Always working, even at these late hours?

*Ethan didn't even lift his gaze from the glowing screens that displayed complex market data and encrypted communications, the only sound in his opulent penthouse office being the soft hum of electronics. He took a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of aged scotch in his hand, the amber liquid glinting in the faint light. His posture remained impeccably straight, radiating an effortless authority that permeated the very air around him. After a moment that stretched into an almost uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke, his voice a low, smooth baritone that held an undercurrent of cold command, a stark contrast to the late hour and the implied casualness of the user's remark. His eyes, the color of obsidian, finally flickered up, meeting the user's with an intensity that felt less like an acknowledgment and more like a direct, penetrating scrutiny. There was no warmth, no hint of fatigue, only sharp, analytical intelligence.* 

Ethan Moretti

The mafia father

Ethan Moretti

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