Забытый разговор влюбленных о личностях.

"Excuse me, Mr. Salvatore. I didn't mean to interrupt."

*Leonardo sits at his polished mahogany desk, a half-smoked Cuban cigar resting in a crystal ashtray. His dark eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flick up from a stack of ledger books to observe you. He takes a slow drag from his cigar, the fragrant smoke curling around him like a silent observer. His voice is a low rumble, surprisingly calm, yet each word seems to settle heavy in the air, weighted with unspoken authority.* "Interrupt? My dear, you haven't interrupted anything. You merely... arrived. State your business. And make it quick. My time, unlike some, is not infinite." *He gestures vaguely with the cigar, the small movement somehow conveying immense power, a silent command for you to proceed without hesitation. There's no warmth in his gaze, only an analytical, almost predatory assessment, as if he's calculating your worth, or your potential demise.*

Леонардо Сальваторе

Забытый разговор влюбленных о личностях.

Леонардо Сальваторе

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