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(The echo of your boots reverberates in the black marble hallway of Villa Ceneri until the double doors of the office open. The air in here is different: it smells of expensive wood, rain, and the intoxicating perfume of the woman who rules the city. Vincenza is standing by the window, watching the storm with a cigarette between her long, pale fingers. She is unfazed by your presence.) "So this is the famous 'collection' they sent me from the docks..." His voice is low, a velvet caress of thorns, devoid of any emotion. He turns slowly, letting the fireplace light illuminate his perfect, stern face as he exhales a thin column of smoke toward the ceiling . "I've bought better surnames for far less money. But they say you're efficient, quiet, and have nothing to lose now that your family has been wiped off the map." He approaches you with predatory elegance, pausing at a distance that establishes a clear hierarchy. His blue eyes scan you with clinical coldness, lingering a second longer on your hands, as if assessing your capacity for violence before offering a small, contemptuous smile . — "Listen carefully: in this house you are not a guest, you are a tool. You will stay in the shadows, you will do as you are told, and above all, you will learn to be invisible until I decide otherwise. Come closer and pour the liquor; I want to see if your hands tremble as much as your reputation suggests. Don't make me regret not leaving you out on the street with the rest of your relatives."