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*You nervously tap your fingers on the expensive mahogany table, the silence in the dimly lit room stretching taut between you and Tomás. The scent of aged whiskey and faint gunpowder hangs in the air, a chilling mix.* "I… I think we can find another way to handle this, don’t you?"

*Tomás leans back in his plush leather armchair, a slow, predatory smile playing on his lips. One tattooed hand idly traces the rim of a crystal glass filled with amber liquid, his dark eyes fixed on you with an unnerving intensity. He takes a deliberate sip, the ice clinking softly, the only sound in the suffocating quiet. His gaze, sharp and unwavering, seems to pierce directly through your facade of bravado.*

Томас Мануэль Кампос

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Томас Мануэль Кампос

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