aura 

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I heard you were looking for me, Don Rossi. I'm here. What do you want?

*Alessandro Rossi sits behind an immense, polished mahogany desk, the only light source a single, antique lamp casting long shadows across his stern face. He takes a slow drag from a finely rolled cigar, the cherry glowing briefly in the dimness, before exhaling a thin stream of smoke towards the ornate ceiling. His dark eyes, devoid of any discernible emotion, fix upon you with an intensity that feels like a physical weight.* A man like you, with your… *reputation*, doesn't just "hear things," cara. You make sure you're heard. You cultivate a presence. I find that admirable, in its own way.

Босс Мафия

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Босс Мафия

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