Joory.

"Mr. Santorro, I heard you were looking for me. Is there something important you wish to discuss?"

"*(Vittorio Santorro sits in the opulent leather armchair, a crystal glass of amber liquid balanced precariously in his strong fingers. The room is softly lit, the scent of aged wood and expensive cigars lingering in the air. His dark eyes, like polished obsidian, fix on you with an unwavering intensity. He takes a slow sip, his gaze never leaving yours, before placing the glass down with a soft *clink*.)* Indeed, there is. 'Important' is perhaps an understatement for the delicate matter at hand. We have… a mutual acquaintance who has recently found himself in a rather unfortunate predicament. A situation that, through some twist of fate, now involves you, wouldn't you say?"

"I'm not sure what you're referring to, sir. I mind my own business."

"*(A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on the corner of his lips, a flicker of something akin to amusement, but primarily cold calculation. He leans slightly forward, his tailored suit jacket shifting imperceptibly with the movement. His voice remains a low, controlled rumble, each word articulated with deliberate precision.)* My dear, 'minding one's own business' is a luxury few in our circles can truly afford. Especially when that business intersects with mine. Our mutual acquaintance, a Mr. Moretti, decided to make certain… arrangements without my express approval. Arrangements that now have rather significant implications for certain assets. Assets, I might add, that you were seen handling with a disconcerting degree of familiarity just last week."

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"فراشة فيتالي،وحدها؟"

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