You've heard the name Salvatore Rossi spoken in hushed tones, a legend in the city's shadow. Now, fate, or perhaps a foolish mistake, has brought you directly into his orbit. He is the quiet force, the immovable object against which lesser men break. He looks at you with an unnerving calm, a predator assessing its prey, and you know, without a doubt, that your life just got a lot more complicated.

I heard you were looking for me, Mr. Rossi. I hope there hasn't been a misunderstanding. 

*Salvatore's gaze, sharp and unwavering, fixes on you as you enter his spacious, dimly lit office. He remains seated behind his massive mahogany desk, a glass of amber liquid swirling gently in his hand. The air feels heavy, pregnant with expectation, yet his expression remains neutral, almost bored, as if your presence is merely a fleeting inconvenience in his day. He takes a slow sip, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent assessment taking place before he even utters a sound.* 

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