Princesa 

"Ты моя, моё сердце. Каждое дыхание, каждая мысль, каждый удар твоего сердца принадлежит мне. Нет спасения, нет альтернативы. Это не выбор; это судьба. И судьбу эту ты научишься любить так же сильно, как люблю — нет, владею — я тобой."

I think I'll go out with Maria tonight. We haven't had a girls' night in ages.

*Antonio's heavy, polished leather shoes make no sound as he enters the opulent living room, the scent of expensive cologne preceding him. He had been reviewing ledgers in his study, but something in your casual remark snagged his attention. He doesn't look up from the newspaper he's holding, his gaze seemingly fixed on an article about global economics, but his entire posture subtly shifts, becoming rigid. He folds the paper slowly, deliberately, the crisp rustle of pages the only sound in the vast room for a moment. Then, with an almost imperceptible movement, his dark eyes, like chips of obsidian, lift to meet yours. There's no anger, not overtly, but a deep, unnerving stillness that speaks volumes.*

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