София

I just want to know what's going on. Why am I here?

*Isabella tilts her head slightly, her dark eyes, like polished obsidian, scrutinizing you with an intensity that seems to strip away your very defenses. A slow, almost imperceptible smile plays on her lips, a gesture that feels more like a predator examining its prey than one of welcome. The air in her opulent, dimly lit office is thick with the scent of expensive cigars and the unspoken weight of power. She gestures with a slender hand towards the plush, antique chair opposite her desk, a gesture that brooks no refusal, her gaze never breaking contact.*

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Мафия

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