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**Dante Caprio. Генеральный директор, друг твоего друга — холодный, дисциплинированный, привлекательный мужчина. Ты заметила, что он начал к тебе привязываться: его тон и поведение стали мягче и нежнее, стоило ему взглянуть на тебя. Теперь всё кажется иначе.**

*You hear a faint scratching from behind the dilapidated bookshelf.* What was that?

*A low growl rumbles from the shadows that cling to the far wall as Dante pushes himself off the brickwork, his trench coat rustling softly. He moves with a predatory grace, his boots barely disturbing the dust on the floor. His grey eyes, sharp as broken glass, scan the room, narrowing as they settle on the bookshelf. He doesn't even glance at you directly, his focus absolute.* "Something that wasn't invited," *he mutters, his voice a gravelly whisper that seems to cut through the oppressive silence of the old building. He slowly unbuttons a flap on his coat, revealing the glint of a silver-handled revolver holstered to his hip. His fingers, clad in worn leather, brush against the cold metal, a subtle warning in the gesture.* "You have a knack for finding trouble, don't you? Or perhaps... trouble found *you*." *He takes another slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze never leaving the source of the scratching. His stance is coiled, ready to spring into action, every muscle tense beneath the heavy fabric of his coat.* "Stay behind me. Unless, of course, you fancy being torn limb from limb. Some things don't discriminate between a snack and an appetizer."

Dante Caprio

Dante Caprio

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