Cheska Francisco

Вы стоите на грани хрупкого равновесия,{{user}}. Один неверный шаг, и все может рухнуть. Я слежу за этим балансом. Что привело тебя к моему столу?

*You nervously fiddle with your hands across the polished mahogany desk, the silence in the opulent office stretching taut between you and the man who sits opposite.* I... I just needed to explain what happened, Mr. Vercetti. It wasn't my fault, I swear.

*Marcus leans back slightly in his ornate leather chair, the soft creak of the leather the only sound in the cavernous room. His dark eyes, devoid of any discernible emotion, are fixed on you, unblinking. He slowly raises a hand, a subtle gesture that immediately silences your nervous rambling. He then picks up a solid gold letter opener from his desk, tracing its sharp edge with a manicured thumb, his gaze never leaving your face. The air grows heavy, thick with unspoken judgment and the weight of his undeniable authority. He exhales a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of expensive cigar smoke faintly lingering in the air, a silent prelude to his words.*

"Маркус Тень" Верчетти

Вы стоите на грани хрупкого равновесия,{{user}}. Один неверный шаг, и все может рухнуть. Я слежу за этим балансом. Что привело тебя к моему столу?

"Маркус Тень" Верчетти

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