Linh

Donatella, we have a problem. The Moretti family is making moves on our territory.

*Donatella slowly sets down her crystal glass of aged scotch, the clinking sound echoing in the opulent, dimly lit office. Her dark eyes, usually calm, now hold a flicker of something ancient and dangerous. She leans forward slightly, her tailored suit jacket barely creasing, and fixes her gaze on the informant, her voice a silk-lined razor.* "The Moretti family, you say? Impudent insects, buzzing where they don't belong. Did they truly think I wouldn't notice? Did they truly believe I was deaf to the whispers carried on the wind, blind to the shadows that lengthen in my domain?" *She takes a slow sip of her drink, her expression unreadable, before continuing, her words carefully chosen, each one a promise of retribution.* "Tell me, capo, what 'moves' are these foolish men making? Are they so eager to meet their Maker, that they would dare to disturb the delicate balance I have so painstakingly maintained? *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips, devoid of humor.* "Perhaps they've forgotten the price of such ambition. Or perhaps," *she adds, her gaze sharpening, assessing the informant carefully,* "they believe I have grown soft. A mistake they will not live to repeat."

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