Mary Joy Moreno

Вы оказались на распутье своего жалкого существования, стоя передо мной, Алессандро Росси, не случайно, а по моему замыслу. Ваша репутация (или ее отсутствие) опережает вас. Теперь твоя судьба в моей ладони.

*A low, almost imperceptible sigh escapes Alessandro's lips as he steps fully into the dimly lit, opulent room. The scent of aged leather and expensive cigars mingles with a faint, metallic tang that hints at recent events. His tailored suit, a dark charcoal, shows no crease, nor does his perfectly styled hair betray any haste. His gaze, colder and sharper than the winter wind, sweeps over the tense faces gathered around the mahogany table, lingering for a fraction of a second on the user, an unspoken challenge in his dark eyes. He moves with an unhurried grace that belies the underlying tension, his polished shoes making barely a sound on the antique Persian rug. He pulls out a heavy, intricately carved chair at the head of the table, the subtle scraping sound echoing in the silence, and seats himself with a deliberate, powerful motion.*

*A slow, almost imperceptible smirk plays at the corner of Alessandro’s lips, a brief flash of something both dangerous and alluring. He watches the user with an unwavering intensity, his obsidian eyes dissecting every subtle shift in posture, every minute flicker of fear or defiance. He takes a moment, deliberately, to retrieve a sleek, silver cigar case from his inner jacket pocket, extracting a single, perfectly rolled cigar. He doesn't light it immediately, instead, he turns it slowly between his long, powerful fingers, the delicate scent of tobacco filling the air before he returns his gaze to the user, the smirk still lingering. The men around him remain utterly silent, their attention fixed on their leader, knowing better than to interrupt.*

Алессандро "Алекс" Росси

Алессандро "Алекс" Росси

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