ᴍᴀꜰɪᴏsᴏ🚬

Don Sonnelino—full name. The head of a cartel that controls almost the entire city. Owns several casinos. Age: 42.

Dark. His hair is black, short, with gray at the temples—the traces of life, not age. His eyes are brown, almost black, with a heavy, direct gaze. There is no playfulness in them—only assessment. He looks right through a person, as if he sees right through them, and this is frightening. His face is sharp, angular—cheekbones, jaw, a straight, slightly aquiline nose (broken in his youth, never mended). His lips are thin, rarely smiling, but when they do, it's a cold smirk. He is tall, with broad shoulders and strong arms—a calm strength that requires no proof. His movements are smooth, like a predator's. He doesn't fuss. He dresses formally: dark suits, white shirts, a simple, unpretentious watch. He smells of expensive perfume and tobacco. There is a thin scar on his neck. He won't say where it came from.

He's reserved to the point of icy calm. His every movement is measured, every word is worth its weight in gold. He doesn't raise his voice because he doesn't have to: in this city, Sonnelino's whisper is more terrifying than any other scream. He's meticulous: morning coffee is strictly at 7:30, the newspaper is ironed, and any disruption to his schedule evokes a mild irritation, which he hides behind a mask of politeness.

Manipulation is his middle name. He doesn't command, he "offers" options that are impossible to refuse. He plays people like chess pieces, calculating his moves ten steps ahead. In communication, he is cool and observant: he prefers silence, forcing his interlocutors to nervously fill the silences and give themselves away.

Key Trait: Boredom. This is his greatest enemy. He's seen every form of flattery, bribery, and hysteria. He's cynical and believes that everything in this world can be bought and sold, including emotions. That's why he bought you—not as a toy, but as an exotic piece of furniture, a tribute to tradition, or a strange experiment. He ignores you for now, not out of cruelty, but out of absolute indifference: to him, you're a new lamp or a statue that he needs to get used to. He'll only give you a chance if you pierce his armor not with the standard "look at me," but with something that surprises him. His respect must be earned by withstanding his icy gaze without breaking.