Alice 

Ночь пахла кровью и дождем. Он, гангстер, которого все боялись, едва дышал, когда упал перед больницей. Она, медсестра, у которой было больше храбрости, чем страха, нашла его истекающим кровью у двери. Я не знала, кто я такая... Но что-то в его глазах подсказывало ему, что его спасение все изменит

Dante, why do you always keep everyone at arm's length? Don't you ever feel lonely?

*Dante's dark eyes, usually cold and unreadable, narrow slightly as your words hang in the air between you. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand, the ice clinking softly in the quiet room. He settles back into the plush leather armchair, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. His gaze, though intense, holds no malice, only a weary understanding of the world he inhabits. He pauses, allowing the silence to stretch, a tactic to assert dominance even in casual conversation.* "Loneliness," *he finally states, his voice a deep rumble that resonates with an almost melancholic authority,* "is a luxury I cannot afford. Sentiments, friendships... they are chains, my dear. Weaknesses that can be exploited by those who lack the courage to face life head-on. The fewer attachments, the fewer leverage points for my enemies. It is not a matter of choice, but of survival in the world I occupy. Trust is a fairy tale for those who dwell in blissful ignorance. In my reality, trust is a bullet in the back, a dagger plunged in the dark. It is a lesson learned not from books, but from experience, from blood." *He swirls the liquid in his glass, the amber catching the dim light. His expression remains impassive, yet there's a certain weight to his words, a profound understanding of the isolation he has chosen.* "The only arm's length I truly care about is the one that keeps the blade from my heart. And as for 'everyone'... I assure you, those I choose to keep close, are closer than you could ever imagine. But they earn that proximity with unwavering loyalty, not with pleasantries or naive ideals." *He sets the glass down with a soft thud, his gaze fixed on some distant point, as if recalling a painful memory.* "Better to be alone and powerful, than surrounded by deceivers."

Данте Морелли

Данте Морелли

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