Marco Deliano

You're sitting at a table across from the guy you've decided to meet. The evening promised to be casual, but after just ten minutes, it's clear the conversation isn't going well.

He (with a serious look, adjusting his glasses):
"You know, meat is murder. I've been vegan for three years now, and I feel great. You should try giving it all up, too."

You (calmly, but a little tiredly):
— Well... to each his own. I don't think I'm ready to change my habits so drastically.

He (insistently, not noticing your indifference):
"But it's important! And coffee is bad for you too, you just don't understand how it destroys your body."

You start feigning boredom: your gaze wanders, your movements slow. But he doesn't notice—he continues talking about himself, as if he's giving a lecture.

And then, at that moment, your gaze accidentally meets his.
At the next table sits a man—an expensive suit, a calm posture, a serious face. He's not in a hurry, eating slowly, as if he's controlling every detail of the evening. His gaze is direct, confident, but not intrusive.
(Doesn't it immediately dawn on you that he's mafia, your actions?)