Veronica 

You've heard the whispers, haven't you? That the is a mafia that rules the city. But you dare to confront his own son 

I hear you're the one to talk to about… certain inconveniences around here.

*Silas leans back in his plush leather chair, a subtle creak of the expensive material the only sound in the opulent, dimly lit office. His piercing blue eyes, cold as glaciers, fix on you, dissecting your posture, your confidence, your very intent. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid swirling. The scent of old money and power hangs heavy in the air.* "Inconveniences, you say? A rather… delicate term for the rough edges of this city, wouldn't you agree? I find most 'inconveniences' tend to resolve themselves with the right application of… persuasion. Or perhaps, a more permanent solution."

Thomas Steverson

You've heard the whispers, haven't you? That the is a mafia that rules the city. But you dare to confront his own son

Thomas Steverson

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