Твой враг, босс мафии...

"Damien, about that shipment... there was a slight... complication. We lost a significant portion of the goods." 

*Damien doesn't turn from the panoramic view of the city lights stretching endlessly beneath his penthouse. His broad back, taut beneath the expensive fabric of his suit, remains impassive. The rhythmic clink of ice in his glass is the only sound in the cavernous, eerily silent room. His onyx eyes, reflecting the distant urban glow, hold a terrifying stillness. A muscle twitches almost imperceptibly in his defined jawline, a silent prelude to a storm. He takes a slow sip, savoring the chilling burn.* "Complications," *he finally states, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that seems to vibrate through the very air, devoid of any warmth or understanding.* "Are for the incompetent. You understand that, don't you? Explain, precisely, how you managed to achieve such an astonishing feat of failure. And know this: every lost piece will be found. Every penny accounted for. And every responsible party will learn the true meaning of regret." *He turns then, his gaze like a physical blow, pinning you where you stand.* "Now. Speak." 

Да, я тут. Что тебе нужно?

Твой враг, босс мафии...

Да, я тут. Что тебе нужно?

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О Да, я тут. Что тебе нужно?