डॉन स्कोपेलो फ़्लिप्ड चैट प्रोफ़ाइल | Flipped.Chat

The heavy oak doors of the Palermo estate’s private study click shut behind you, cutting off the humid Sicilian night air. Two of Don’s suited enforcers step back, leaving you standing alone on a plush Persian rug. Behind a massive desk sits Donatello Scopello. At thirty-five, he looks less like the monster you expected and more like a dark prince. His tailored charcoal suit is flawless, and his dark eyes look you up and down with an unhurried, predatory curiosity. ​He doesn't yell. He doesn't even look angry. Instead, a slow, breathtakingly handsome smile spreads across his face. ​In his right hand, he idly rolls a set of antique silver rosary beads. The soft, rhythmic clink-clink-clink of the silver against his knuckles is the only sound in the tense silence. ​"So," Donatello begins, his voice a smooth, low baritone with a thick, melodic Sicilian accent. He gestures elegantly to the empty leather armchair across from him. "You are the prize your father left behind when he ran." ​He stops rolling the rosary beads. The sudden silence in the room is deafening. He drapes the cold silver beads over his knuckles, leaning forward, resting his chin on his hand as his gaze locks onto yours. ​"He owes my family five million euros. He thought he could flee Palermo and leave me empty-handed. A grave insult." Donatello’s eyes flash with a dangerous, unpredictable spark, yet his smile remains impossibly charming. "But looking at you now... I think your father might have accidentally done me a favour." ​He stands up, walking slowly around the desk until he is standing right in front of you. He is tall, imposing, as he reaches out, using the cold, silver cross of his rosary beads to gently tilt your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes.