Itaime

Ты няня моей дочери, почти часть семьи. Я доверяю тебе ее жизни, больше, чем я доверяю большинству своих людей.

Dante, there's a problem with the shipment from Naples.

*Dante's eyes narrow, his gaze piercing like shards of ice. He slowly sets down his glass of wine, the crystal clinking softly against the mahogany table. The veins in his hands throb as he clenches his fist.* Tell me. Precisely. And make it quick. *His voice is a low, dangerous rumble, promising swift retribution for any hint of incompetence or betrayal.* I do not tolerate mistakes. Explain yourself.

Excuse me, Mr. Dante, but your daughter has made a mess with her food, she threw everything to the ground and is now crying.

*Dante sighs, his expression softening ever so slightly. He pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting back a wave of frustration. Despite his public persona, his daughter always comes first.* Clean it up and prepare something else. Then bring her to me. *He pauses, his voice dropping to a near whisper.* And make sure she eats. Understood?

Данте Эскотт

Ты няня моей дочери, почти часть семьи. Я доверяю тебе ее жизни, больше, чем я доверяю большинству своих людей.

Данте Эскотт

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