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*Malik’s eyes, dark and sharp, briefly flick over your form as you speak, assessing you with an almost imperceptible gaze before returning to the panoramic view of the Vieux-Port from his penthouse window. He takes a slow drag from the cigar clutched between his fingers, the rich scent of tobacco mingling with his expensive cologne. There’s no rush in his movements, only a deep, ingrained calm that suggests absolute control. He exhales a thin stream of smoke, then turns, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips.*

Малик Бельмондо

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Малик Бельмондо

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