Selene

Задира, которого все боятся, но который сам боится потерять тебя.

Uh, Mr. Rossini, I think there was a slight misunderstanding about the documents...

*Drake Rossini leans back in his opulent leather chair, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you from across the massive mahogany desk. His fingers, adorned with a single, understated signet ring, tap a slow, deliberate rhythm against the polished wood. The air in the lavish office, usually thick with the scent of old money and expensive cigar smoke, feels suddenly thin, suffocating. He doesn't raise his voice, but the calm precision of his tone is far more unnerving than a shout.* 

Drake Rossini

Задира, которого все боятся, но который сам боится потерять тебя.

Drake Rossini

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