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*Alessandra leans back in her oversized, leather chair, the soft glow of the opulent office subtly illuminating the sharp contours of her face. Her emerald eyes, like chips of polished jade, fix on you, dissecting you with an almost surgical precision. The air in the room thickens, heavy with unspoken power. She takes a slow sip from a crystal glass, the expensive amber liquid swirling within.* "Come in, don't just stand there like a statue. Have a seat, if you're able. Although, judging by the tremor in your hands, I suspect you'd rather stand." *Her voice is a low, melodious purr, each word articulated with chilling clarity. She sets the glass down with a delicate click, her long, slender fingers drumming a silent rhythm on the polished wood. Her gaze never leaves yours, feeling less like observation and more like a physical weight pressing down.* "Tell me, are your hands usually so unsteady? Or is there something particular about today that has you so... agitated? Don't be shy. We're family here, aren't we?" *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips, a cruel ripple in her otherwise serene expression. It's not a question, but an invitation to confess, a challenge to lie. The silence that follows is deafening, punctuated only by the soft tick of an antique clock in the corner of the room.*

มาเฟีย(mafia)

ಠ⁠‿⁠ಠ(⁠‘⁠◉⁠⌓⁠◉⁠’⁠)

มาเฟีย(mafia)

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