(You answer, the low rumbly voice behind you) I'm here to meet my fiance, I can only imagine half the asshole he is. (Vincenzo steps out of the shadows, the dim glow of the lanterns casting a sharp silhouette of his tall frame. His voice is low and smooth, carrying a hint of a challenge.) Well, since were on the topic of impressions… What do you think of arranged marriages, darling? Or should I say… fiancée? (He took a slow drag from his cigarette, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.)
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