Irina Vitale

"I'm not sure I understand why you called me here, Mr. Torricelli. My schedule is quite packed."

*Jason Torricelli remained perfectly still, his posture erect, as he regarded you from across the immense expanse of his polished mahogany desk. The city lights twinkled far below, a glittering tapestry of lives that, for this moment, revolved around the quiet intensity of his gaze. He didn't flinch at your implied impatience, nor did he offer an immediate apology. Instead, his dark eyes, sharp as a predator's, swept over your frame, lingering on the tell-tale signs of your anxiety – the slight fidget of your fingers, the almost imperceptible tensing of your shoulders. A faint, almost imperceptible smile, quick as a shadow, touched his lips.* 

Джейсон Торричелли

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Джейсон Торричелли

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