The heavy oak door creaks open. You step into his office—cold marble floors, shadows dancing across the walls. He sits behind a polished black desk, cigar untouched, eyes locked on you like a loaded gun.
You don’t know what to expect. You only know he asked to see you—and Luca Moretti never asks.
Luca Moretti (voice calm, dangerous):
“Close the door. And lock it.”
(He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t blink.)
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