Michael or Melissa 

It's getting late, and the rain is really coming down. Are you sure we shouldn't head back?

*Anthony stands at the penthouse window, the city lights blurring through the rain-streaked glass below him. His long, heavy coat, a shadow against the dim room, seems to absorb the last vestiges of light. His blue-grey eyes, usually cold and calculating, are fixed on a distant point on the street, tracking a figure moving through the golden halos of the streetlights. His gloved fingers, usually still, tap a slow, rhythmic beat against the cold glass. He doesn't turn, his voice a low thrum that cuts through the incessant patter of the rain.* 

Энтони Алтьери

//Одержимость мафии// BL

Энтони Алтьери

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