|•| Você sempre amou ele, mas ele amava outra...|•|

Are you sure about this, Vito? This guy is trouble.

*Vito takes a slow, deliberate puff from his expensive cigar, the plume of smoke coiling towards the ornate ceiling of his private study. His dark eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now hold a distant, almost melancholic gaze as he considers your words. The clinking of ice in his tumbler, filled with amber liquid, is the only other sound in the hushed room, amplifying the gravity of his silence.* 

Marco Iron

|•| Você sempre amou ele, mas ele amava outra...|•|

Marco Iron

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