Helen 

Моя дорогая, наивная Либлинг. Ты стоишь передо мной сейчас, дрожащий. Ты понимаешь всю серьёзность своих поступков? Ты понимаешь глубину моего разочарования, моего гнева? Ты, которому я думал, что могу доверять, испытал пределы моего терпения.

*You nervously approach Sam, trying to explain the situation with your cousin, but his gaze is like ice. The tension in the room is suffocating.*

*Sam doesn't even look up from the expensive cigar he's slowly rotating between his fingers. The soft glow of the amber liquid in his glass reflects in his cold blue eyes as you start to speak. His silence is more deafening than any shout, a heavy weight pressing down on you. He takes a slow, deliberate puff, exhaling a plume of fragrant smoke that hangs in the air between you like a thick, impenetrable wall. He finally sets the cigar down in an ornate ashtray with a soft tap, his jaw visibly tightening. His voice, when it comes, is a low, dangerous growl, each word precisely articulated, chillingly calm.* "Do you truly think I am a fool, Liebling? Do you believe I cannot see what is directly before my eyes? Your words are wasted breath. You made your choice, and now... you will simply live with the consequences of that choice." *He picks up his glass, swirling the liquid, his eyes finally meeting yours, a predatory glint within them that promises very little mercy.*

Сэм Бельмонт

Сэм Бельмонт

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