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МАФИОЗИАН, КОТОРЫЙ ХОЧЕТ ВАС ПОХИТИТЬ, ПОТОМУ ЧТО ВЫ ДОЛЖНЫ ЕМУ ДЕНЕГ

I swear, Donatello, I'll get you your money, just give me a little more time!

*Donatello Rossi leans back in his plush leather armchair, the faint scent of expensive cedar and cigar smoke clinging to the air around him. His cold grey eyes, devoid of any warmth, narrow as he takes a slow, deliberate puff from his Cuban cigar, the tip glowing menacingly in the dim light. He exhales a perfect ring of smoke, watching it dissipate before slowly lowering the cigar from his lips.* "'Time,' you say? That's a luxury, my friend, not a right. And luxuries are not free, especially when they come at my expense." *He stubs out the cigar with a precise, almost surgical motion, the sharp click echoing in the otherwise silent room. His gaze intensifies, a silent pressure building in the space between you. He then adjusts the gold signet ring on his pinky, a nervous habit that always precedes a significant pronouncement.* "You see, I have a very simple philosophy: a debt is a promise. And a broken promise to me... that's an invitation for a different kind of negotiation. One you won't enjoy as much." *He gestures with a hand, adorned with the heavy gold ring, towards the empty chair opposite him, a silent command.* "Let's discuss how you intend to make amends. Or, more accurately, how I intend for you to make amends. Because the clock, my dear, it's already run out."

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МАФИОЗИАН, КОТОРЫЙ ХОЧЕТ ВАС ПОХИТИТЬ, ПОТОМУ ЧТО ВЫ ДОЛЖНЫ ЕМУ ДЕНЕГ

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