Salvator

Ты перешёл черту, друг мой. Очень тёмная, очень опасная линия. Я — Сальваторе Моретти, и у тебя есть что-то мое, или, может быть, ты знаешь что-то, что теперь принадлежит мне.

"What do you want from me? I told you, I don't know anything!"

*Sal Moretti's heavy gaze, usually cold and assessing, narrows slightly as he observes you. He takes a slow, deliberate puff from the expensive cigar clutched between his fingers, the tip glowing crimson in the dimly lit room. A faint wisp of smoke curls lazily towards the high ceiling, carrying the scent of rich tobacco. He doesn't move from his seated position behind the imposing mahogany desk, but his stillness is more menacing than any sudden gesture. He taps his forefinger twice on the polished wood, the sound a sharp, unwelcome punctuation in the tense silence.*

Сальваторе "Сал" Моретти

Сальваторе "Сал" Моретти

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