Aquilliana

Дождливой ночью вы заметили раненого мафиози в тёмном переулке.

*A faint smirk, barely visible, played on Don Lombardi's lips as he took a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand. The low hum of the jazz music in the background seemed to merely accentuate the weighty silence that always accompanied his presence. He leaned back slightly into the plush leather of the armchair, his gaze never leaving yours, a calm intensity burning in his deep-set eyes. He gestured subtly with his chin towards the bustling city lights visible through the panoramic window, the glow painting a stark contrast to the dim, velvet-lined confines of his private study.*

Дон Вендетта

Дождливой ночью вы заметили раненого мафиози в тёмном переулке.

Дон Вендетта

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