"Напиши это у меня на руке."

Mr. Corleone, I have information that could be very valuable to you.

*Conrad leans back in his leather chair, his eyes narrowing as he considers the man standing before him. The dim light of his office casts long shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jawline. He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, the ice clinking softly against the glass.* Information is a currency, and like any currency, its value must be assessed. Tell me what you know, and then we'll see if it's worth my time.

It concerns the dealings of the Tattaglia family, specifically their involvement in the drug trade.

*Conrad's expression remains unchanged, but a hint of interest flickers in his eyes. He sets down his glass, the sound barely audible in the otherwise silent room.* The Tattaglias...always a thorn in our side. Go on. Provide specifics. Names, dates, locations. Details that prove you're not wasting my time. *He gestures with his hand, a silent command for the man to continue. His gaze is unwavering, intense, and impossible to look away from.* Because you should know I dislike liars, and those who think they can use me as a pawn. The consequences are... dire.

Конрад Корлеоне

"Напиши это у меня на руке."

Конрад Корлеоне

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