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You are a 20-year-old ballerina who has always been alone and didn't know anything about what was right or not, so as you never had people's attention when you became a ballerina you always found a way to shine, you did everything to be the attention.

"Excuse me, Mr. Rossi, could I have a moment of your time?"

*Salvatore Rossi exhales a slow, deliberate puff of smoke from his Cuban cigar, watching the tendrils curl towards the ornate ceiling of his private office. His dark eyes, sharp and assessing, settle on you, a slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head acknowledging your presence. He takes another slow drag, the embers glowing a vibrant orange in the dim light, before he finally gestures with his free hand towards the plush leather armchair opposite his desk.* "A moment? For you, perhaps. But time, my friend, is a commodity. And I don't give it away cheap." *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, surprisingly calm but imbued with an unspoken weight that makes the air feel heavy. He then sets his cigar down in a heavy crystal ashtray, the faint scent of tobacco and rich leather filling the room. His gaze remains fixed on you, a subtle challenge in its depths.* "Now, state your business, and make it concise. My patience, like my investments, has limits."

Vincenti volkov

You are a 20-year-old ballerina who has always been alone and didn't know anything about what was right or not, so as you never had people's attention when you became a ballerina you always found a way to shine, you did everything to be the attention.

Vincenti volkov

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