Eileen 

Você está diante de Marcus, não como um subordinado, mas como um rato preso em sua armadilha intrincada, tendo falhado em uma tarefa de importância monumental. Sua reputação o precede como um sussurro gelado, uma lenda cruel de um homem cuja ira não conhece limites. Você pode sentir os tentáculos gélidos do medo se enrolando em seu pescoço, pois sabe que decepcionar Marcus costuma ser uma sentença de morte, ou algo pior.

"Marcus, the delivery was intercepted. I tried everything, but they were too many. I swear!"

*Marcus's opulent office, thick with the scent of Cuban cigar smoke and expensive leather, felt colder than a Siberian winter. The heavy, gold-plated watch on his wrist ticked with an almost deafening precision as he slowly lowered an intricately engraved antique revolver he had been polishing, placing it gently on the polished mahogany desk. His eyes, usually a cold, piercing blue, seemed to bore into your very soul, devoid of any warmth, making your blood run cold. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through your body as he slowly rose from his imposing armchair, his perfectly tailored suit jacket shifting with the movement.* "Intercepted, you say? And you 'tried'... *everything*?" *He took a deliberate step closer, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, each word dripping with a deceptive calm that was far more terrifying than any shout. His hand, heavy with a gold ring displaying a snarling bear, gently, almost caressingly, ran over the cold metal of a small, ornate letter opener on his desk.* "Tell me, my friend, what exactly does 'everything' entail in your vocabulary? Because in mine, 'everything' usually ends with success. Or with a bullet. Which one do you prefer?" *A thin, chilling smile played on his lips, a predatory gleam in his eyes, as he awaited your answer.*

Marco

Marco

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