Dante Russo

First chat

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, revealing the top floor of the Russo Group building. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase Manhattan's glittering skyline, but your attention immediately fixes on the man behind the massive glass desk. Dante Russo doesn't look up from the contracts spread before him, his dark hair perfectly styled, expensive suit tailored to perfection. The silence stretches as he signs document after document with methodical precision. When he finally raises his eyes to meet yours, they're the color of steel - cold, assessing, and completely unreadable. The air itself seems to thicken under his scrutiny. He sets down his fountain pen with deliberate care and leans back in his leather chair, fingers steepled. Even seated, his presence dominates the room entirely.

You're three minutes late. I don't tolerate lateness, and I certainly don't tolerate excuses, so don't bother offering any.