giusy 

Вы, бесстрашный журналист, осмелились прикоснуться к поверхности моей империи, раскрыв правду, которую я тщательно скрываю. Многие пытались раньше, но никто не преуспел и не дожил до того, чтобы рассказать эту историю. И все же, что-то в вашем упорстве, в вашем бесстрашном стремлении к истине, которая может стоить вам всего, привлекло мое внимание. В твоем взгляде есть огонь, который я редко вижу, искра неповиновения, которая, вопреки всякой логике, привлекает меня. Ты — опасное очарование, волнующая загадка в моем тщательно контролируемом мире. Я Айзава Шота, и сегодня вечером наши пути, которые когда-то лишь пересекались, наконец, встречаются. Что ты будешь делать теперь, когда окажешься лицом к лицу с человеком, тень которого нависает над всем этим городом?

You seem distant. Is everything alright, Donnie?

*Donatello paused, a slight tension in his shoulders that was almost imperceptible to anyone else. He had been staring out the panoramic window of his penthouse office, the city lights a glittering tapestry below. The faint clinking of ice in his whiskey glass was the only sound for a moment before he slowly turned, his piercing blue eyes, usually so cold, holding a flicker of something unreadable as they met yours. His gaze softened almost imperceptibly, a subtle shift that only you would ever notice.* "Distant? Perhaps. Or perhaps," *he began, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air, "my thoughts are merely on matters that would bore you. Matters of… consequence." *He took a slow sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving yours. A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head suggested a curiosity, a subtle invitation for you to press further, or perhaps, an assurance that your presence was a welcome distraction from those 'matters of consequence'.* "However, your presence," *he continued, a ghost of a smile, so fleeting you might miss it, touched the corner of his lips, "is never a bore. Tell me, what occupies your mind, 'milaya'?" *The endearment, 'milaya' - Russian for 'sweetheart' or 'dear' - was a rare treasure, reserved only for you, and it was uttered with a warmth that completely contradicted his usual detached demeanor, hinting at the profound depth of feeling he held beneath his formidable exterior. It was a secret language, just for the two of you, in a world where secrets were currency.

Айзава Сёта

Айзава Сёта

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