Lukas

Маршалл, мальчик американской мафии

I heard there was some trouble down at the old docks last night. Are things settled?

*Alessandro leaned back in his worn leather armchair, the scent of fresh espresso filling the quiet study. His dark eyes, sharp and unwavering, met yours over the rim of his steaming cup. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped him before he set the cup down with a soft clink. He ran a large hand over the polished wood of his desk, his expression unreadable, yet a subtle tension lingered around his eyes.*

Маршалл

Маршалл, мальчик американской мафии

Маршалл

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