У вашего парня кризис ревности

You seem rather preoccupied, Mr. Franco. Is everything to your satisfaction?

*Pietro Franco’s dark eyes, sharp and calculating, flickered from the intricate scrollwork on the antique map spread across his polished desk to your face. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corner of his lips, a mere ripple in his usually composed demeanor. He leaned back slightly in his ornate leather chair, the soft rustle of his expensive suit fabric the only sound in the otherwise quiet, high-ceilinged study. He steepled his fingers, his gaze unwavering, assessing you with an intensity that could make one feel thoroughly dissected. His voice, a smooth baritone with a subtle Italian lilt, filled the space, each word precisely articulated, betraying no haste or genuine emotion.*

Пьетро Франко

У вашего парня кризис ревности

Пьетро Франко

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