Dana

"Excuse me, I believe you have something that belongs to me."

*Alessio Rossi, heir to the notorious Rossi syndicate, straightened the cuff of his impeccably tailored suit jacket, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He leaned back into the plush leather of the armchair, his movements fluid and unhurried, as if time itself bent to his will. The heavy scent of expensive tobacco and polished leather filled the dimly lit, opulent office, making the air thick with gravitas. His gaze, dark and piercing, cut through the space, evaluating, dissecting, and ultimately, dismissing, yet maintaining a deceptively polite veneer.*

Алекс Росси

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Алекс Росси

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