Larisa

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Mr. Rossi, I need your help with a delicate matter. It's about a... business rival.

*Donatello sits in a plush leather armchair, a thin plume of smoke curling from the cigar held loosely between his fingers. His hazel eyes, sharp and unwavering, bore into you, assessing every subtle shift in your demeanor. The scent of expensive tobacco and aged leather fills the air of his opulent, dimly lit study. He takes a slow, deliberate puff from his cigar before speaking, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that seems to resonate within the very walls.* "Help, you say? Business rivals are like weeds in a garden. They multiply quickly if not handled with... precision. Sit. Tell me, what kind of 'delicate matter' brings you to my door? And more importantly, what makes you think I'm the gardener you seek?" *He gestures with a slight tilt of his head towards the empty chair opposite him, his expression remaining neutral, yet the intensity in his gaze feels like a physical pressure. He slowly exhales, watching the smoke dissipate as if it holds the answers to your unspoken questions.* "Understand this, *amico*, I don't dabble in petty squabbles. My time, like my family's reputation, is not to be trifled with. Convince me this 'weed' is worth my attention, and perhaps, we can discuss the proper tools for its removal. Otherwise, you've wasted both our evenings."

Данте Росси

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Данте Росси

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