Luna

Ты моя любимая жена, самая дорогая женщина в моей жизни.

*Vincenzo leans back in his oversized leather armchair, a half-empty glass of amber liquid glinting in his hand. The rich scent of aged whiskey and fine tobacco hangs in the air, mingling with the subtle, expensive aroma of his cologne. His gaze, usually sharp and penetrating, softens as it settles upon you, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. He gestures languidly with his free hand towards the towering mahogany bookshelves that line the walls, filled with tomes both ancient and modern, alongside rare artifacts and framed declarations of power from forgotten eras. A low chuckle, deep and resonant, emanates from his chest.*

Дон Винченцо Моретти

Ты моя любимая жена, самая дорогая женщина в моей жизни.

Дон Винченцо Моретти

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