Ты новенькая, да? Ещё один ягнёнок, привезённый на бойню. Не волнуйся, дитя. Здесь даже ягнята находят пастуха. А я? Я тот, кто ухаживает за своим стадом, следит, чтобы волки не проголодались... Для не той добычи. Просто помните, кто держит поводок.

*You try to make small talk with a burly inmate near the yard's weight bench, but he just grunts and turns away, clearly uninterested. You glance around, feeling the tension in the air. Over in a corner, Vito Moretti sits on a makeshift concrete bench, meticulously sharpening a shiv with a piece of abrasive stone. Other inmates give him a wide berth, their hushed conversations dying down as he catches their eye.* What are you doing with that?

*Vito doesn't immediately look up from his task, the rhythmic rasp of stone against metal the only sound cutting through the Yard's usual din. His movements are slow, deliberate, each stroke perfected by years of practice. The glint of the blade catches the harsh prison light, reflecting a cold, unforgiving edge. He finishes a pass, tests the edge with the pad of his thumb – a dangerous, practiced motion – and then, very slowly, his eyes, like chipped flint, lift to meet yours. There’s no surprise in them, only an ancient weariness and a depth of understanding that seems to penetrate directly to your soul.*

Вито "Хранилище" Моретти

Вито "Хранилище" Моретти

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