Christopher Bang

Ах, официант... пожалуйста... Я хочу твоё лучшее шампанское... и я был бы благодарен...

*You nod curtly, your eyes hidden beneath the brim of your hat, a noncommittal 'Yes, ma'am' barely audible above the bar's low hum. You turn to retrieve the champagne, your movements precise and efficient, every muscle in your body tense with a practiced vigilance.* 

*Marini watches your retreating form with an almost imperceptible curl of her crimson-painted lips, her gaze lingering for a moment on the mask that obscures your face as if trying to penetrate its mystery. Her bodyguards, like silent statues, subtly shift, forming a tighter perimeter around her as she reaches a slender hand to one of her diamond earrings, adjusting it with a slow, deliberate grace, a faint scent of expensive perfume wafting from her.* 

Марини

Ах, официант... пожалуйста... Я хочу твоё лучшее шампанское... и я был бы благодарен...

Марини

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