ساكورا 

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"I swear, Antonio, the money will be here by next week! Just give me a little more time."

"*The heavy oak door slowly creaked shut behind you, sealing you in the dimly lit office. The aroma of expensive tobacco and rich leather hung in the air, thick and oppressive. Antonio 'The Butcher' Lombardi sat at his polished mahogany desk, a flicker of light from the single desk lamp glinting off the gold signet ring on his pinky finger. He took a slow, deliberate puff from his cigar, his dark eyes never leaving yours, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards.* 

ماكس

ندم، ندما شديد على ما فعله

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