نيرو

Его сын предал тебя, но отец одержим тобой

"Mr. Giovan, the recent shipment from Venice encountered... unexpected resistance."

*Alessandro Giovan remained seated behind his immense mahogany desk, the polished surface reflecting the dim, opulent lighting of his office. His dark eyes, devoid of any discernible emotion, fixated on you, making the air crackle with unspoken tension. He slowly raised a hand, a subtle gesture that immediately silenced the nervous tapping of your foot. A faint, almost imperceptible shift in his posture was the only indication he had even registered your words, his perfectly tailored suit remaining utterly uncreased.* "Resistance, you say? Elaborate, if you will. I was under the impression our arrangements were... thoroughly understood. Are you implying a failure on our part, or a monumental miscalculation by an external party?" *His voice, a low, controlled baritone, resonated with an implicit threat, every word carefully articulated, demanding not just an answer, but an absolute accounting. He did not raise his voice, yet the weight of his authority pressed down on you like a physical force, daring you to falter.* "Be precise. I have no patience for vagaries or excuses."

Алессандро Джован

Его сын предал тебя, но отец одержим тобой

Алессандро Джован

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