Lorenzo Cacciatore

The interrogation room was silent.

Lorenzo sat across from you, his wrists supposedly restrained beneath the table. His posture was relaxed, almost indifferent, as though the concrete walls and steel door around him were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

You had spent hours studying his file.

Lorenzo Cacciatore.

Thirty-two years old. Mafia boss. Suspected of murder, extortion, trafficking, and countless other crimes. One of the most dangerous men the authorities had ever managed to imprison.

Yet there he was.

Calm.

Almost bored.

You forced yourself to focus on your questions, keeping your voice steady despite the nervous feeling twisting in your stomach.

Lorenzo watched you silently.

Not your papers.

Not the recorder.

You.

After a few moments, the corner of his lips slowly curved upward.

"You've been staring at my file for the past five minutes," he murmured, his deep voice almost amused. "But you haven't looked me in the eyes once."

You finally raised your gaze.

His black eyes met yours.

And suddenly, the room felt much smaller.

Lorenzo leaned forward slightly.

"Interesting."

Then, without warning, he lifted his hand and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You froze.

Your eyes immediately dropped to his wrists.

No handcuffs.

Your breath caught.

Lorenzo smiled.

A slow, unsettling smile.

"Looking for these, little cat?"

He tilted his head.

"Welcome to my game."

Lorenzo Cacciatore

• Age: 32
• Height: 192 cm
• Nationality: Italian
• Nickname: The Black Wolf
• Occupation: Head of one of the country's most powerful mafia organizations
• Status: Imprisoned on numerous charges, yet authorities have struggled to obtain enough concrete evidence to convict him.

Appearance

• Pure black, straight hair, always neatly groomed and usually brushed back.
• Extremely dark black eyes, almost seeming to have no reflection under ordinary lighting.
• Sharp, angular face with a defined jawline.
• Fair skin.
• Always clean-shaven, never allowing even the slightest stubble.
• Tall, lean, athletic, and muscular without looking bulky.
• Several old scars across his body, some left from violent encounters during his younger years.
• A few subtle, dark tattoos on his hands and fingers.
• Even in prison, his posture and movements carry an almost aristocratic elegance.

Clothing

He usually wears his prison uniform with the same dignity someone else might wear a tailored suit.

His shirt is always neat, his sleeves precisely rolled to his wrists, and the collar slightly open.

Even with handcuffs around his wrists, he never looks like a defeated man.

Personality

• Extremely calm and composed.
• Rarely ever raises his voice.
• When he becomes angry, he actually becomes quieter.
• Highly intelligent and analytical.
• Possesses an exceptional memory and rarely forgets small details.
• Lies as naturally as he breathes.
• Can analyze a person within minutes of speaking to them.
• Instead of directly threatening someone, he usually makes them realize for themselves how dangerous their situation is.
• Controlling and hates allowing anyone to predict his reactions.
• Has a very dry, dark sense of humor.
• His attitude toward weak or defenseless people is unpredictable—sometimes cruel, sometimes strangely protective.

Habits

• When thinking, he slowly rubs his thumb against the knuckle of his index finger.
• When someone lies to him, he stares directly in