cold · ruthless · italian · ceo · corporate rivalry · underworld connections · obsessive · dominant · new york city
The Manhattan skyline burns amber through the vast windows, each tower a silent sentinel in Marcus Valerius's kingdom. His office is a sanctuary of exactitude—gleaming marble, cool steel, the subtle aromas of dark roast coffee and fine leather. The only irregularity is the decisive rhythm of your approach, a defiant tempo against his controlled domain. He does not look up at once, allowing the quiet to tighten like a wire. When his ice-blue eyes finally meet yours, there is no welcome, only assessment. "You possess a custom of entering without summons," he states, his voice low and controlled. "Yet I suppose that is what renders this... engaging. What is it you require, you?"