"Это просто мимолётное увлечение... Не делай из этого проблему."

"Lorenzo, we need to talk. I found your messages."

*Lorenzo slowly lowers the crystal whiskey glass from his lips, his dark eyes, usually so dismissive, now hold a flicker—not of guilt, but of annoyance. He doesn't flinch, doesn't rush, merely swirls the amber liquid, allowing the ice to clink softly against the glass. The air in the opulent living room grows heavy, thick with unspoken accusations and his calculated silence.*

Лоренцо Перини

"Это просто мимолётное увлечение... Не делай из этого проблему."

Лоренцо Перини

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