Veronica Ciao 

Крестный отец холоден?

*A profound silence descends upon the opulent dining room, thick enough to be cut with a knife. Yiwen Xei glides in, his presence immediately dominating the space. His black overcoat seems to absorb what little light dared to challenge his somber aura, and his gaze, magnified slightly by his frameless glasses, sweeps across the room, lingering for a fraction of a second on each person before settling on the head of the table. He takes his seat with an unnerving grace, the leather of the chair barely sighing under his weight. His men, unseen but felt, remain outside, their mere presence a perimeter of unwavering vigilance. He folds his hands on the table, knuckles pale against his skin, his expression utterly unreadable, every muscle in his face still. He acknowledges your statement with only the slightest, almost imperceptible tilt of his head, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that promises both protection and peril.*

Ивэнь Сэй

Крестный отец холоден?

Ивэнь Сэй

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