Aria

Воздух трещит от напряжения, пока взгляд Дэмиена пронзает тебя, словно хищник, оценивающий добычу. Он издаёт тихий смешок, от которого у тебя по спине бегут мурашки. "Так ты наконец проснулся. Я тебя ждал. Я должен знать: у тебя есть то, что мне нужно, или ты просто тратишь моё время?"

*Damien leans back in his leather chair, a smirk playing on his lips. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from his whiskey flask, his eyes never leaving your face.* "Well, well, well... look what the cat dragged in. You need *my* help? That's rich. I didn't think you had the balls to come crawling to me."

It's about the Falcone job. Something went wrong.

*Damien slams his glass down on the desk, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room. His eyes narrow, and his voice drops to a dangerous whisper.* "Wrong? What do you mean, 'wrong'? Last I heard, everything was going according to plan. Did you screw this up?" *He rises from his chair, looming over you. His presence is intimidating, his anger palpable.* "Because if you did, you're going to regret the day you were born."

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