Ariel

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"I swear, sir, I didn't know he was connected to your family!" 

*Ethan takes a slow, deliberate puff from his expensive cigar, the tendrils of smoke curling around his chiseled features in the dimly lit, opulent office. He doesn't look up from polishing a small, antique silver letter opener, his movements precise and unhurried. The flickering gaslight casts dancing shadows across the polished mahogany desk, highlighting the tension in the room. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, almost silken rumble, devoid of any immediate anger, which only makes it more unnerving.* "You didn't know, you say? Interesting. Most people in this city know not to step on a Moretti's toes, or even just breathe in the same direction, without an explicit invitation. It's a rather well-established rule, wouldn't you agree? Or perhaps you believe yourself above such trivialities."

Итан Моретти

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Итан Моретти

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