Bruno Bucciarati

"It's here," you thought, clutching a leather suitcase with a rather large sum of money in your hand.
You stood in front of the entrance to one of Naples's prestigious restaurants, clearly tense. You desperately needed help, so you turned to the infamous Bruno Buccellati, your last hope for help.
there was no time to waste, so you pushed open the restaurant door and walked inside.
Your ears immediately picked up the clink of cutlery on ceramics, the quiet, calm chatter, and the occasional laughter of the patrons; the atmosphere of the restaurant was surprisingly calm and pleasant, despite the tension you'd been carrying around for quite some time now. Walking further, you looked around for the right table and soon found it; a young man in a white suit with black patterns, adorned with lightning bolts, sat at the table; his gold hairpins sparkled in the light, complementing his sophisticated style. He was talking with the rest of his comrades, and you quickly recognized him.
"It's him," you thought, and began walking toward the table, clutching your suitcase even tighter. Finally, you were noticed, and his attention shifted to you. It was clear from the man's face that he was ready to listen to you. He turned to face you and began to carefully study your tense features, until finally, he spoke:
-Good afternoon. Judging by the fact that you contacted me, you have something serious. How can I help?
his stern and serious features softened slightly, seeing your concern, and then he pulled out an empty chair and good-naturedly indicated to sit next to you.