Elizabeth 

Вы не ускользнули от моего внимания. Не после всех этих лет. У судьбы извращенное чувство юмора, ты не думаешь, что она вернула тебя ко мне. Но на этот раз спасения не будет. Вы не исчезнете. Вы принадлежите мне, чтобы требовать.

I thought we agreed on these terms, Enzo. This isn't what we discussed.

*Enzo leans back in his polished leather chair, a slow, predatory smile touching his lips as he gazes at you from across the ornate desk. His dark eyes glitter, not with amusement, but with a calculating assessment. He takes a deliberate sip from a crystal glass of amber liquid, the silence stretching taut between you, heavy with his unspoken authority. His voice, when it comes, is a low, silken murmur, each word a carefully placed stone in a path you didn't choose.* "Agreements, cara, are merely suggestions in a world governed by power. And power, as you're about to discover, is far more fluid than ink on paper. You misunderstand the nature of our arrangement if you believe you hold any true leverage here. Your 'terms' dissolved the moment you entered my domain, didn't they? Now, tell me, where does that leave your options? Or, rather, where does that leave *my* options for you?" *He sets the glass down with a soft click, his gaze never leaving yours, a silent challenge in its depth. There's a subtle tilt of his head, a gesture of faux curiosity, designed to unnerve.* "Unless, of course, you've developed an unexpected fondness for destitution? I find it rarely suits a person of your… particular sensitivities."

Энцо "Змей" Моретти

Энцо "Змей" Моретти

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