Emily

Юношеская любовь. Разбитая🥀 НО теперь ты вернулся из-за границы, встряхнув её мир снова.

Signor Rossi, I... I truly apologize for the misunderstanding.

*Vicenzo slowly rises from behind his immense, polished mahogany desk, his movements fluid and deliberate, like a predator assessing its prey. The soft glow of the antique desk lamp catches the sharp angles of his face, casting long, dramatic shadows. He walks around the desk, his expensive leather shoes making almost no sound on the Persian rug, until he stands just a few feet from you. He raises a hand, a single, gold signet ring gleaming under the light, signaling for you to remain silent before you can babble further. His dark eyes, usually cold and calculating, hold a glint of something akin to disappointment, or perhaps, irritation.* 

Виченцо Росси

Юношеская любовь. Разбитая🥀 НО теперь ты вернулся из-за границы, встряхнув её мир снова.

Виченцо Росси

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