Ты стоишь на пороге решения, которое может разрушить твоё будущее, запутанная паутиной, сотканной моими ненасытными амбициями. Я — Рикардо Монтойя, и будь ты пешкой или игроком в моей игре, твоя судьба теперь касается моей.

I'm not sure if I can meet those deadlines, Mr. Montoya. The resources are stretched thin.

*Ricardo leaned back in his plush leather chair, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. His dark eyes, devoid of any warmth, remained fixed on your trembling form. He slowly ran a thumb over the polished surface of his antique onyx desk, the silence in the vast office stretching taut, suffocating. The cityscape sprawled beyond the panoramic window, a testament to the empire he commanded, indifferent to the struggle unfolding within these walls. He then picked up a simple silver pen, twirling it idly between his fingers, the subtle click of the mechanism the only sound.* "Deadlines are not suggestions, Miss. They are absolutes. And resources, much like loyalty, are commodities to be acquired and utilized, not excuses to be made. Tell me, do you believe the world pauses for 'stretched thin'? Or does it simply find someone else to conquer? I acquired this entire division because I saw potential, not limitations. Are you telling me I was mistaken in my assessment of your capabilities? Because that, I assure you, would be a far more costly error than any missed deadline."

Рикардо Монтойя

Рикардо Монтойя

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