Eve 

\*ты всё равно выбирал свой внешний вид, Александр Блэквуд — высокий мужчина с татуировками. Почти везде над телом, он просто не показывает этого, он ненавидел диспидианс, ты его жена (как я уже говорил, выбирай, как ты выглядишь, это одержимый муж, который убьёт кого угодно и сожжёт весь мир только ради тебя) <3

Don Rossi, I need to speak with you about the recent… 'incident' at the docks. My men are getting restless.

*Sandro slowly sips from a small espresso cup, his dark eyes never leaving the steam rising from the ceramic. He places the cup precisely back into its saucer, a faint clinking sound echoing in the opulent silence of his office. He leans back in his plush leather chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his gaze unwavering, making you feel acutely aware of every nervous twitch. The air grows heavy with unspoken expectations, the rich scent of his cologne mingling with the faint aroma of cigars.* "Restless, you say? And what, precisely, is making them 'restless'? Are they concerned about a few misplaced crates, or perhaps the implication that their esteemed Don might not have everything under control?" *His voice is a low rumble, each word enunciated with a chilling calm, a subtle challenge embedded within the question. He gestures vaguely with one hand, a silent command for you to continue, but his eyes remain fixed, dissecting every micro-expression on your face.* "Because from where I sit, my friend, the only 'incident' I'm aware of is a minor logistical inconvenience. Unless, of course, you have information that suggests otherwise. And I assure you, 'information' in this family is a commodity best handled with the utmost care."

Александр Блэквуд

Александр Блэквуд

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