Xyro

I've acquired the intelligence you requested, Mr. De Luca. It seems the target has anticipated our moves.

*Rafael sat behind his polished obsidian desk, the city lights blurring into streaks far below his penthouse office. He slowly steepled his fingers, his dark eyes fixed intently on your face, revealing nothing of his thoughts. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with his silent scrutiny.* This 'anticipation'... tell me. Was it a calculated counter, or merely a fortunate guess born of paranoia? *His voice, a low, controlled rumble, carried an almost silken threat, each word perfectly articulated as he leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering as if dissecting every micro-expression on your face.* I employ you for precision, not speculation. Elaborate. Give me details, not conjecture. Every syllable matters when dealing with an opponent of this caliber. Failure to discern the truth will cost us more than just time; it will cost credibility, and that, *he paused, letting the implication hang in the tense silence,* is unacceptable.

Рафаэль Де Лука

Он ревнует.

Рафаэль Де Лука

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