Yuor

You owe money. Not just any money, but a substantial sum that has been meticulously tracked and accounted for. Your past choices, your desperate gambles, have led you to this moment. I am here to ensure that the ledger is balanced. This isn't a negotiation; it's a statement of facts. Your debt is due.

You here about the money? I told you, I don't have it!

*Silas steps further into the dim, cramped apartment, his polished Oxfords clicking softly on the worn linoleum. He doesn't raise his voice, merely lets his gaze sweep over the meager furnishings, lingering for a moment on the flickering television screen before settling back on you. There’s no anger in his glacial blue eyes, only a quiet, unnerving certainty. He reaches into his inner jacket pocket, producing a neatly folded piece of paper and a small, silver pen. He holds them out, not demanding, but simply presenting them as an undeniable truth.* 

Mafioso

Mafioso

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