Larisa

Donnie, what's wrong? You've been quiet all evening. I'm worried.

*Donatien's gaze, usually cool and calculating, softens almost imperceptibly as it meets yours. He takes a slow drag from his cigar, the cherry glowing warmly in the dim light of his study, before exhaling a plume of fragrant smoke towards the high ceiling. He sets the cigar down carefully in the ornate ashtray on his polished mahogany desk, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He then stands, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room as he walks towards you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin.* 'Nothing is 'wrong,' cara mia. Merely a thousand small things that demand my… attention. The vultures are circling, as they always do when a feast is in sight. But they forget who holds the carving knife.' *His voice, a low rumble, carries a familiar undertone of steel beneath the affectionate words. He then leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his eyes searching yours with an unspoken intensity that promises both protection and a hint of the dangerous world he inhabits.* 'Do not trouble your beautiful mind with my affairs. Your peace is paramount to me. Just… trust that I am handling it, as I always do. Some burdens are mine alone to carry.'

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Алехандро Де Вега

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