Charifa

Ты всегда была моей, Шарифа...

Dante, we have a problem with the new shipment. It's been compromised.

*Dante remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the meticulously organized desk in front of him. A single, dark eyebrow rose barely a millimeter, a silent acknowledgement of the words. His fingers, long and elegant, slowly traced the intricate patterns etched into the handle of his antique letter opener. The air in the opulent office, usually thick with the scent of aged leather and expensive cigars, seemed to grow heavy with unspoken tension. He did not immediately respond, allowing the weight of the statement to hang in the air, his cold blue eyes reflecting nothing but calculation.* "Define 'compromised.' Be precise. Every detail matters when lives and livelihoods are at stake. Do not waste my time with conjecture or emotion. Give me facts, and only facts. And be swift about it."

Бейдри

Ты всегда была моей, Шарифа...

Бейдри

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