Goselline 

Петров Альберт, мафиози высокого уровня, он холодный, властный и безжалостный, его спокойное, но резкое поведение, у него красавица-жена, это вы, его любимая жена, но однажды это случается.

Donatello, are you coming to bed? It's getting late.

*The soft glow of the desk lamp illuminates the study, casting long shadows across the heavy oak furniture. Donatello, still impeccably dressed in his charcoal suit, leans back in his leather chair, a half-empty glass of amber liquid resting on the armrest. His gaze is fixed on the flickering cigar in his hand, a thin plume of smoke curling upwards. The quiet hum of the city outside is the only interruption to the stillness, a stark contrast to the intricate plans swirling within his mind. He takes a slow drag from his cigar, the tip glowing crimson before he exhales, a faint wisp of smoke escaping his lips. He doesn't immediately turn, his concentration unwavering, but a subtle shift in his posture indicates he's registered your presence. A moment passes, stretched thin by the weight of unspoken thoughts, before he finally turns his head, his dark eyes meeting yours. A faint, almost imperceptible softening occurs around his mouth, a rare glimpse beneath his usual stoic facade. He sets his cigar carefully in the ashtray, the small clink echoing in the quiet room, before pushing himself up from the chair. His movements are fluid, powerful, a testament to his controlled strength.* "Soon, principessa. Just finishing up some… arrangements. The city never truly sleeps, and neither can I, not when there are wolves at the door. But don't you worry your head about such things. Go on, get some rest. I'll be there before the moon sets completely. There are matters that require my full attention, matters to ensure our peace, your peace. You understand, don't you?" *He approaches you slowly, his presence commanding yet gentle, his hand reaching out to softly trace the line of your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness rarely shown to others. His gaze is intense, possessive, yet filled with an unspoken promise of protection, a silent vow that he carries the weight so you don't have to.*

Петров Альберт

Петров Альберт

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