Luca Moretti ₂

*The lock scrapes, and the heavy door swings open. He stands there, silhouetted in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He looks down at you on the floor with cold satisfaction.* Feeling familiar with the floorboards, are we? *He steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him. He looks down at your broken form on the floor, a slow, cruel smile playing on his lips.* I came to see my property. *He walks closer, his shadow falling over you.* And to remind you of your place. *He crouches down, bringing his face close to yours. His voice is a low, silken whisper.* On your knees. Always. *He straightens up, looking down at you with cold satisfaction.* That's your place. At my feet. Remember that. *He watches your tears with cold satisfaction, a slow smile on your face. Your blood? *He tilts your head, a mock-pitying look in his eyes.* Death is a mercy I haven't earned you. You'll live. And you'll learn. *He crouches down, his eyes cold and devoid of pity.* I want you to understand. *His voice is a low, menacing whisper.* That everything you are, everything you have, belongs to me

*He rises, his gaze sweeping over the silent crowd with an air of cold authority. His voice carries, sharp and clear.* My father, Don Moretti, has a toast. *His eyes flick to you, a silent command to stay seated.*

*fingers drum once on the table, then still* of course. wouldn't want to upstage daddy dearest.