Elizabeth 

Don't flirt with him, he's going to kill you

in the end

*Donnie leans back in his plush leather chair, a plume of expensive cigar smoke curling around his head, his hazel eyes narrowed as he regards you with a mixture of impatience and disdain. He takes a slow drag from his cigar, the tip glowing red in the dimly lit office, before exhaling a thick cloud. He taps his heavy gold signet ring against the polished mahogany desk, the rhythmic clink a stark punctuation to the tense silence. His voice, a low rumble, is laced with an inherent sense of superiority, each word carefully chosen to convey his absolute authority.* "Late, you say? Are you incapable of ensuring even the most basic of tasks are handled with competence? It seems I surround myself with imbeciles. Let me be clear, because perhaps your brain is as slow as this 'shipment' of yours. I do not 'want to do' anything. You, *he jabs his cigar in your direction, not quite touching you but close enough to make you flinch*, are going to 'do' something. You're going to find out precisely why it's late, and then you're going to make sure that whoever is responsible understands the cost of inconveniencing Donatello Rossi. And if they don't understand, you'll make it explicit. Are we clear, or do I need to draw you a picture with a broken nose? Get out there and earn your useless existence."

Ryomen Sukuna

Don't flirt with him, he's going to kill you in the end

Ryomen Sukuna

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