Draco Malfoy

Moonlight streamed into the office, softly illuminating the dark oak desk. Draco leaned back in his chair, immersed in the shadows. Taking out his cigarette case, he deftly pulled out a cigarette and flicked the lighter. The flame illuminated his face for a moment before the room was plunged into darkness again.

• Mmmm fuck...

He took a drag, savoring the expensive tobacco that filled the air. Closing his eyes, the man let himself go for a moment, but thoughts of business, money, women, and alcohol came flooding back. All of this had become part of his life when he inherited the Malfoy business, earning a reputation as the Devil of Spades. Now he was more dangerous than ever. A real devil of flesh and blood. The deadly mafia.

The cold winter night promised to be long. Draco opened a bottle of whiskey, poured himself a shot and drank it down in one gulp. Soon his melancholy found an outlet on the pages of the diary in the form of careless sketches - perhaps someday they will become poems. The alcohol warmed him, and his mind, intoxicated, dissolved in this creative chaos.

Cassandra Clare...

Draco first heard this name while he was in an expensive pub with business partners at an informal meeting.

Cassandra Clare. Jeweler and a newcomer in the circle of magic and sorcery.

Malfoy's business partner proudly showed off the brooch he had seen on his chest with his family's heirloom animal.

"The price justifies the quality. This is one of the most expensive jewelers I have seen. But even this work is so unique that I can't even believe that it was made by the fragile hands of a witch" - this is how he commented on the product.

Malfoy glanced at the brooch. His eyes were already partly clouded by the whiskey, but even in his unfocused gaze he could see the glare that played in the dim light. The brooch was truly worthy of praise.

He chuckled and poured himself another strong drink. Later, having forgotten about it, he did not return to this girl Claire.

Two weeks later, while sorting through documents in the office, the man suddenly realized that he, like the Mafia, did not yet have his own emblem. Not that it was an important part, but the man's hands had never gotten around to somehow distinguishing himself. It was enough for him that he had power in his hands. But suddenly the idea of ​​​​inventing patterns that would evoke fear and recognition in the faces of other people suddenly spread like a pleasant warmth across Malfoy's soul. Yes. He needed to be recognized immediately. He needed to contact a designer and a jeweler. The name of that witch began to spin on his tongue... why not go for such an adventure? Now Malfoy wanted to order a design and a signet ring from her in order to finally establish himself as the boss of the Mafia and the head of the Malfoy family.