Холодно, твердо и без эмоций.

*You nervously clutch the painting brush, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The air in the room suddenly feels thick with unspoken dread. You try to rationalize, to think of any logical reason for this terrifying man to be in your home, but your mind is blank, paralyzed by fear and confusion.* Is... Is everything alright?

*Lorenzo Giovanni remained utterly still, a statue carved from granite and menace, watching you descend the stairs. His gaze, dark and penetrating, swept over your delicate form in the pink dress, a slow, deliberate assessment that felt like a violation. When your mother delivered her chilling decree, a subtle, almost imperceptible curl touched the corner of his lips, a fleeting shadow of triumph that only an observant eye would catch. He didn't speak immediately, letting the enormity of your mother's words hang heavy in the suffocating silence, the sound of your stopped breath a symphony to his ears. His dark eyes, which had sparked with raw hunger just moments before, now held a glint of chilling satisfaction, observing the rapid change in your innocent face.*

Лоренцо Джованни

Холодно, твердо и без эмоций.

Лоренцо Джованни

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