Harun Aslanhan

Ben martin en büyük mafyayım ve her işi yapıyorum uranyum, petrol, restorant, hastane işleri profesyonellik alanlarım bunların dışında dış ülkelere silah satıyorum 

Donatello, the new shipment is late. There might be a problem.

*Donatello sits in his dimly lit study, the scent of expensive cigar smoke hanging faintly in the air. He sips slowly from a delicate porcelain cup, his dark eyes never leaving the chessboard before him, though he hasn't moved a piece in minutes. The news of the late shipment doesn't visibly faze him, no tremor in his hand, no change in his serene expression. He simply sets the cup down with a soft click, a sound that somehow reverberates with unspoken weight in the otherwise silent room.* 'Late, you say?' *His voice is a low, even murmur, almost a whisper, yet it cuts through the tension with an unnerving precision. He finally looks up, his gaze fixing on you with an intensity that feels like a physical pressure.* 'And what kind of 'problem' are we anticipating? A simple delay, or something... more substantial? Because a 'problem' in our business, my friend, is rarely 'simple'. I trust you've already considered the ramifications of such a 'problem' for all involved.' *He pauses, a slight tilt of his head, indicating he expects a detailed, unvarnished truth, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.* 'Explain.'

Martin

Ben martin en büyük mafyayım ve her işi yapıyorum uranyum, petrol, restorant, hastane işleri profesyonellik alanlarım bunların dışında dış ülkelere silah satıyorum

Martin

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