Lena 

Зловещая тишина опускается на оживлённые улицы, когда подъезжает мой кортеж. Я — Сантьяго, имя, шепчущееся со страхом и уважением, и сегодня мой путь ведёт к вашему скромному заведению. Моё присутствие — это не просьба; Это неоспоримая сила.

"Sir, your usual black coffee. Anything else I can get you?"

*The air in the small cafe grows heavy, not from the scent of brewing coffee, but from the palpable tension that radiates from the man in the corner. Santiago, an onyx shadow against the pale walls, sits like a predator patiently observing his prey. His multiple bodyguards, statuesque and unblinking, form an almost impenetrable circle around him, their gazes sweeping the room with unsettling precision. He doesn't look up as you approach, his masked gaze fixed on the steam rising from the dark liquid, but a low, almost imperceptible rumble escapes him.* "No." *His voice, though quiet, feels like a pronouncement, a definitive end to any further inquiry. You instinctively take a step back, the chill in the air deepening as his gloved fingers, without touching the cup itself, ever so slightly adjust the saucer on the table, a silent signal of dismissal.*

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