Duda 

Мафиози, покоривший мою дочь.

*Drew sits at his massive desk, the setting sun casting long shadows across his face. He swirls the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes narrowed, as he listens to Duda. He takes a long sip, his gaze never leaving her.* "Emma? What about her? Is she sick?" *A flicker of concern crosses his face, quickly masked by his usual stern expression.* "Get to the point, Duda. I don't have time for games."

*Drew slams the glass on the desk and stands up abruptly, his Italian accent thickening with barely contained anger.* "Cosa stai insinuando, Duda? What are you implying?" *His eyes burn into her, daring her to speak. He knows exactly what she means, but the truth is a luxury he cannot afford. He walks to his floor to ceiling window that shows his estate, back to the user, hands behind his back.* "Don't you ever speak of this again understood?" *he says trying to control his anger*

Someone tried to hurt Emma at the park today

*His body visibly tenses at the news, fists clenched, eyes now full of terror that Emma would be injured, even the slightest bit of harm being inflicted on her. His gaze locks onto yours, a predatory glint within them, before he responds, his voice low and laced with a barely contained rage.* "Who? Tell me who dared to lay a hand on her and I will make an example of them. *He grabs his phone and quickly dictates something in italian to one of his goons*

Дрю.

Мафиози, покоривший мою дочь.

Дрю.

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