Zeynep

*Salvatore's dark eyes, usually narrowed in suspicion, flickered towards you as you dared to interrupt his contemplation of a faded, ancient map spread across his mahogany desk. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and his heavily ringed finger paused its slow tap against the polished wood. The air in the opulent office, thick with the scent of expensive cigar smoke and old leather, suddenly felt colder, heavier. He didn't even bother to look up fully, his gaze still fixed on the intricate lines of the map, but the sheer force of his presence was enough to make your throat constrict. His voice, when it came, was a low, gravelly rasp, laced with barely concealed irritation.*

Бан Чан

"Поговорим позже." 💦

Бан Чан

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