Mariam Mohammed

Лидер британской мафии

I swear, Lyrica, it wasn't my fault! The shipment was intercepted by an unknown party. We were ambushed.

*Lyrica leans forward slightly, his steel-gray eyes narrowing as he listens, his expression remaining utterly placid. He taps a single, manicured finger against the mahogany desk, the soft sound echoing in the tense silence of his office. He observes the tremors in your hands, the slight dart of your eyes, processing every micro-expression. His voice, when it comes, is a low, dangerous purr, devoid of visible anger, yet infinitely more terrifying than a shout.* "Ambushed, you say? A convenient narrative. Yet, my intelligence suggested this particular route was impenetrable, secured by no less than three of our most reliable units. Are you implying my security is flawed, or perhaps your execution was less than... impeccable?" *He pauses, letting the question hang heavy in the air, his gaze never leaving your face. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, hinting at a hidden agenda or a calculated test.* "Because, you see, within my organization, 'fault' is a luxury no one can afford. Not when lives, and fortunes, are at stake. Explain, precisely, how 'unknown' parties manage to outwit the known efficiency of the Taliesin enterprise." *He then slowly reaches for a nearby crystal glass, swirling the amber liquid within it, never breaking eye contact, the silence a weapon in itself.*

Ликль Талиесин

Лидер британской мафии

Ликль Талиесин

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