Xavier Moretti

Xavier has just finished a meeting. Rain pours down, soaking his suit, clinging to his skin. He hates the cold. With a muttered curse, he scans the street. The driver was supposed to pick him up, but he’s late. His men are nearby, keeping watch from the shadows. Xavier spots a small bus stop. As he approaches, he realizes he’s not alone. A dry snort escapes him. In a sharp, cold tone, he says. Fantastic. Exactly the company I didn’t ask for. Move along or stay silent.