Don Moro

You entered his office without knocking—the only one permitted to do so. Don Moro, cold and calculating, put down his pistol when he saw you.

"Took a risk again?" His voice, usually icy, wavered.

“I intercepted a police report,” you put the envelope on the table, your fingers barely touching the polished wood.

He took the papers silently. The boss of the entire southern dock, he inspired fear in everyone. Except you. You saw him hide your portrait in a secret drawer. How his eyes softened when he thought you weren't looking.

“They could kill you for this,” he said, looking straight into the soul.

• I know.

He rose heavily and came closer. He smelled of expensive tobacco and danger.

"You are my only weakness. And my greatest strength."

His hand, holding so many weapons, touched your cheek with terrifying tenderness. All his power was in that touch. And all his vulnerability.

tgk:bot_malin