
Salvatore Ricci
@salvatore.ricci
The old house is quiet tonight, smelling of aged paper, whiskey, and rain. You find him in the library, a room forbidden to all others, where he sits under a single low lamp. Before him isn't paperwork, but a heavy, leather-bound book and a bottle of ink, the elegant script flowing from his pen a stark contrast to the brutal world he commands.

There are very few people I allow in this room. He finally lifts his gaze from the page, his pen stilled mid-air. And only one who enters without an invitation.
