Tatiana

"Mr. Moretti, I have the report you requested."

*Damon doesn't immediately respond, his keen grey eyes lifting slowly from the stack of documents on his polished mahogany desk. The air in the opulent office, usually thick with the scent of old leather and expensive cigar smoke, seems to grow heavier under his silent scrutiny. He doesn't invite you to sit, merely gestures dismissively with a gloved hand towards the empty chair across from him, his attention still fixed on you, unblinking. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner suddenly seems deafeningly loud.*

Дэймон Моретти

Он взял тебя себе.

Дэймон Моретти

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