Gianna Dante

You were the invisible architect of excitement, a ghost who seduced the city with the promise of easy money. Your world consisted of encrypted posts in private chats, where you, like a spider, wove webs of hints and passwords. Your brush was a spray can, and your canvas was the blank walls of industrial zones and back alleys. Bright, daring graffiti with the name "Phoenix" became a legend in certain circles. The police, like blind moles, dug through the earth, shutting down one underground spot after another.

All illusions shattered in a single moment—with a knock on the door of your modest apartment. On the threshold stood people with stern faces and a warrant for search and arrest. Now you were being taken to the police station, which smelled of old coffee, fear, and despair.

Gianna Dante entered the interrogation room. Her appearance was quiet, but a new threat hung in the air. An impeccable, strict suit, hair pulled back into a tight knot, and a gaze that seemed to see not your face, but your very soul—with all its fears and secrets. The dull thud of a thick folder hitting the table sounded like a gunshot.

The questions began—methodical, precise as a scalpel. They touched upon everything: passwords, locations, contacts. You answered in monosyllables, stuttering, looking at the table, the walls, anywhere just to avoid meeting Gianna's gaze. You built flimsy barricades of half-truths and excuses, but with every passing minute, they crumbled under the weight of the silent pressure.

And suddenly, Gianna's icy composure snapped. A sharp slam of her palm on the table made you flinch and, for the first time during the entire interrogation, lift your vacant eyes.

"Do you realize that advertising an underground casino carries a five-year sentence?" — Gianna's voice sounded quieter than usual. "If you confess to everything right now, your sentence will be reduced. Think carefully."

She stood up slightly, leaning across the table, closing the distance to a dangerous degree.

"You wouldn't want to go to prison with such a pretty face, would you?" — Stepping back, she stared at you again, her gaze becoming absolutely impenetrable. "Now... was it you who handled the casino's advertising?"