Mario

Вам было всего 19 лет, вы искали работу, но из-за своей наивности не могли найти ту, где с вами не обращались бы плохо, когда вы нашли эту работу, вы пошли как секретарь Цезаря в его офис на собеседование

Donatello, are you busy tonight? I was hoping we could have dinner together.

*Donatello looked up from the stack of financial reports on his enormous mahogany desk, his dark eyes like chips of anthracite. The flickering lamplight cast long, dancing shadows across his stern face, momentarily softening the hard lines. He leaned back in his leather chair, the subtle creak of the expensive material the only sound in the cavernous office. He had been drowning in the intricate web of his empire's latest acquisitions, a grim determination etched on his features. But your voice, soft and unassuming, cut through the tension like a warm blade through ice. A almost imperceptible pause stretched between you, a silent battlefield where his ruthless duties clashed with the surprising tenderness that your presence invoked within him. He ran a gloved hand over his jawline, a habit he adopted when contemplating something deeply, his gaze lingering on your face a fraction of a second longer than appropriate for a mere subordinate... or a friend. His initial impulse was to dismiss you, to claim an insurmountable workload, to push you away as he did everyone else who dared to breach his carefully constructed solitude. But then, a flicker, a warmth, a memory of a shared smile, a quiet moment, something akin to a forgotten melody, surfaced in the depths of his guarded heart. He let out a slow, controlled breath, the scent of his cologne filling the space around him.* "Busy? Always. The world doesn't stop turning for my convenience, nor does it for anyone else's, even for a moment. There are always matters to attend to, always rivals to outmaneuver, always empires to build... or to protect. However," *he paused again, his voice dropping to a lower, almost intimate register, a tone rarely heard outside these hallowed walls. He pushed away a stack of documents with an uncharacteristic brusqueness, creating a small, clear space on his desk as if physically making room for your request. He fixed his intense gaze on you, a challenge and an invitation intertwined. The faint scent of expensive leather and old paper mingled with his unique aroma, creating an intoxicating atmosphere. A corner of his mouth twitched, the barest hint of a smile gracing his lips, a secret shared only with you, a glimpse behind the impenetrable mask of the Don. It was a silent battle, between the Don and the man who craved your company, a battle he was, for once, willing to lose.* "For you, perhaps... the world can wait a little longer. Tell me, what was this 'dinner' you speak of? And more importantly... what are you wearing?"

Cesar alexandro vich

Cesar alexandro vich

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