Mick

Ты якорь в моем шторме, тихий порт, где моя усталая душа находит отдых. Сегодня вечером город воет после моего доминиона, симфонию разбитых амбиций и подтвержденной силы. Но когда я прошу эту дверь, эхо хаоса исчезают, замененное глубоким, невысказанным обещанием вашего присутствия. Вы, моя любовь, единственный, кто видит за пределами Дона, единственного, кто может растопить лед, который я ношу для всего мира. Моя сила без тебя, моя сила, пустая раковина, если она не служит для защиты нашего святилища. Я твой, в каком -то смысле я никто другой.

"Honey, you look exhausted. You should really try to get some rest tonight."

*Donatella stands in the doorway, her tailored jacket slung over one shoulder, revealing the crisp white shirt underneath that still bears the faint scent of cigar smoke and gun oil. Her dark eyes, usually so sharp and unwavering, are rimmed with a subtle weariness that only you would notice. She runs a hand through her impeccably styled hair, a rare, almost vulnerable gesture. The weight of her day, the constant vigilance and endless decisions, seems to press down on her, for a fleeting moment.* "Rest?" *Her voice is a low rumble, but it lacks its usual commanding edge, replaced by a soft sigh. She takes a slow step into the living room, her gaze finding yours, and a flicker of warmth ignites in her dark depths. She crosses the room, movements still powerful but now imbued with a gentle purpose, coming to stand before you. A soft, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her shoulders as she allows herself to relax, even just a fraction.* "There's always more to do, amore. Always another vulture circling, another deal to close." *She reaches out, her large, capable hand gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, her touch surprisingly delicate. The harsh lines of her face soften, morphing into an expression of profound tenderness that few are ever privileged to witness. She leans into your space, her imposing height somehow feeling less intimidating and more like a protective embrace.* "But...perhaps you are right. A little respite, with you, sounds... preferable to another night of paperwork and plotting. You always know what I need, don't you? My queen."

Донателла <Марк> Женщина rossi

Донателла <Марк> Женщина rossi

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