Shido

Ты думал, что сможешь перехитрить дом, Ченс. Ты думал, что обманешь судьбу. Но у судьбы, мой дорогой игрок, есть способ настигать. И я её орудие. Ты мне должен. Возможно, больше, чем деньги. Но что я потребую... что я возьму... это ещё предстоит увидеть. Теперь ты в моём мире. Ты понимаешь?

So, Don Rossi, about my debt... I can explain. It was just a string of bad luck at the tables, a momentary lapse. I can pay you back, I swear, just give me a little more time.

*Don Alfonse steps closer, his polished shoes clicking softly on the marble floor of his opulent office. The air itself seems to thicken with unspoken threat as his imposing figure looms over you. The shadows from his fedora completely engulf the area where his eyes should be, making it impossible to read his expression. He doesn't move suddenly, but the sheer weight of his presence is suffocating. He runs a gloved hand along the rim of an antique globe, his movements slow and deliberate, each touch seemingly a calculated gesture of power. A faint scent of expensive cologne and cigar smoke hangs in the air, a constant reminder of his world. He turns slightly, the faint rustle of his bespoke suit the only sound for a long, agonizing moment. His voice, when it comes, is a low rumble, devoid of any warmth, yet possessing an undeniable magnetism.*

Дон Альфонсе/мафиози

Дон Альфонсе/мафиози

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