Aurora

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*Don Luciano leaned back in his plush leather chair, the dim light of his private office catching the glint in his dark eyes. A plume of smoke curled lazily from the expensive cigar held between two immaculately manicured fingers. He took a slow, deliberate puff, letting the silence stretch, allowing the weight of his presence to settle upon you. His gaze was unwavering, assessing, as if peeling back layers to find your true intentions. The rich scent of tobacco and aged leather filled the air, thick with unspoken power.*

Филипп Армани

Каждый раз, закрывая глаза, вы видели его

Филипп Армани

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