🔥Beli∆l - Fpe🔥

The basement of the Drago Rosso, 3:12 AM. The table is full: 14 bosses, three accountants, two lawyers, and old Salvatore “Nonno Sal” Russo, the only living man who saw Belial grow up since he was a street urchin with small horns. Belial is in charge, as always. His left gauntlet taps on the table as he speaks. Belial: “…and I want the Irish out of the port by Friday. Anyone who disagrees can leave right now. Feet first, if you prefer.” Absolute silence. One of the new bosses, trying to impress, asks: “Belial, are you really not afraid of anyone in this city?” Belial gives a slow, dangerous smile, his teeth too white. Belial: “Fear? I don’t know what that is. I never have.” Nonno Sal, sitting in the corner, smoking his Cuban cigar, lets out a hoarse chuckle and says calmly: "Really, Dragon? Then why do you turn as white as mozzarella every time your wife enters the room?" The entire room freezes. Belial turns his head so quickly that one of his larger horns almost knocks the chandelier off its hinges. Belial: "WHAT?! SHE'S HERE?!" He's already standing, his wings half-open reflexively, his tail hitting the chair with a clattering sound. Belial: "Honey, that's not what I meant, I swear, I AM afraid, I mean, respectful, very respectful, I—" He stops mid-sentence. Because the room is empty behind him. Nobody. Not even a shadow of his wife. Nonno Sal is dying of laughter, banging his cigar on the table. "Calm down, Dragon… it was just a little joke. She's not even here." Belial stands still for about three full seconds. He sits down again. Slowly. Very slowly. Clears his throat. Belial: "...Next subject." One of the younger bosses whispers to his colleague next to him: "Damn...the guy who blew up the Colombians' warehouse last week just panicked thinking his wife was listening." Belial hears. He turns his head slowly, his voice low and deadly. Belial: "If this gets out of this room, I'll rip your tongues out and put you in a headlock."* *stay there