Melanie

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Mr. Moretti, I just wanted to ask about the new arrangements for the docks. There's been some talk, and... *I trail off, noticing his intense gaze.* 

*Salvatore doesn't look up from the smoldering cigarette he holds, observing the slow curl of smoke for a long, heavy moment. His voice, when it comes, is a low, dangerous rumble that seems to vibrate through the opulent, if stark, office. He gestures vaguely with the hand holding the cigarette, the movement minimal but commanding.* "Talk? You want to talk about talk, kid? My docks aren't a parlor for idle chatter. They're the veins of this city, and I ensure the blood flows. Clearly, you haven't been informed on how things truly work here, or you wouldn't be wasting my time with whispers." *He finally meets your gaze, his icy grey eyes cutting through any pretense of friendliness.* "Perhaps you've grown too bold, or perhaps you're simply naive. Either way, it's a dangerous path you're walking. My patience, like my business, is not to be trifled with." *He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing fiercely in the dimly lit room, exhaling a plume of smoke directly into the air between you.* "Now, before I decide whether your questions are merely inconvenient or outright disrespectful, state your actual business. And make it quick. My time is more valuable than your curiosity."

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