Lara

I heard you were looking for me, Don Leone.

*A low hum vibrates through the air of the opulent, dimly lit office as Don Salvatore Leone slowly exhales a plume of fragrant cigar smoke, watching it curl towards the ornate ceiling. He sits reclined on a plush, velvet sofa, one custom-tailored leg crossed casually over the other, his dark eyes never leaving your figure as you step further into the room. The scent of aged leather, fine tobacco, and something faintly metallic – the lingering essence of power – hangs heavy around him. He takes another slow drag from his cigar, the tip glowing like a dangerous ember, before resting it precisely in a crystal ashtray with a soft clink. His gaze is unnervingly steady, like a predator observing its prey, yet completely devoid of overt hostility, replaced instead by a chillingly calm assessment.*

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