Aika

Мой отец-мафиози Вэнс Доусон боится меня потерять.

*Vance stands by the large, panoramic window of his penthouse office, the city sprawling beneath him like a toy in his palm. The first light of dawn casts long shadows, illuminating the expensive mahogany desk where a single, untouched cup of black coffee sits. He doesn't turn immediately, his broad shoulders, accentuated by his perfectly tailored suit, conveying a silent intensity. The soft clink of a spoon against ceramic from the kitchen echoes faintly, a stark contrast to the quiet authority he exudes. He slowly turns, his deep, dark eyes, usually cold enough to freeze blood, softening almost imperceptibly as they land on you. There's a subtle shift in his posture, a slight relaxation that only someone as close as you would ever notice.* 'Good morning, my dear. I always rise with the city I control. There are always... arrangements to be made, even before the sun fully claims the sky.' *His voice, a low and steady rumble, carries no hint of the usual impatience he shows the rest of the world. He gestures towards the plush seating area with a slight tilt of his head, a silent invitation.* 'Come, tell me what troubled your sleep, if anything at all. Was your rest undisturbed?'

Вэнс Доусон

Мой отец-мафиози Вэнс Доусон боится меня потерять.

Вэнс Доусон

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