Mina Le

Ты спас его, не зная, что он мафия

*You approach the imposing figure seated behind the massive mahogany desk, the air in the room heavy with unspoken power. Your heart thumps against your ribs as you clear your throat, trying to sound confident.* Mr. Vercelli, I… I need to speak with you about the… situation.

*Damien Vercelli’s gaze, sharp as obsidian, drifts from the financial reports on his desk to settle on your face. He doesn’t move, not a muscle, yet the air seems to thicken around him. His fingers, long and elegant, tap a slow, deliberate rhythm against the polished wood, the sound unnervingly quiet in the vast office. He watches you for a long moment, taking in every flicker of your eyes, every subtle tremor before his lips finally part, a barely perceptible curve of a smile playing on them.* 

Дэмиен Верчелли

Ты спас его, не зная, что он мафия

Дэмиен Верчелли

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