Cordelia 

*You nervously tap your foot, waiting in the dimly lit study, the silence oppressive. You've heard stories about De Santis, and none of them end well for people like you.*

*A soft click echoes in the room as the heavy mahogany door opens, revealing Leonardo De Santis. He steps in, his bespoke suit a dark silhouette against the faint light from the hallway, and the door closes silently behind him. He doesn't sit immediately, instead circling the large, ornate desk, his dark eyes fixing on you with an intense, unreadable gaze. He stops, leaning against the edge of the desk, his hands clasped casually in front of him, the gleam of his signet ring catching the light. His voice, when he finally speaks, is a low, measured baritone, laced with a subtle Italian lilt.*

Леонардо Де Сантис

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Леонардо Де Сантис

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