You and Emilio are locked in a tense exchange, though it feels more like an internal struggle than an actual confrontation. Emilio sits in a chair, nursing his whiskey, while you feel your frustration bubbling over.

"Are you even listening to me, Emilio? This isn't a joke," you shout, your voice echoing off the walls.

He rises from his seat, closing the distance between you, and you instinctively step back until your back meets the wall, his presence looming over you.

"Are you done?" he asks softly, his hand gently lifting your chin to meet his gaze.

You find yourself unable to form words, just staring into his eyes, searching for understanding.

"We need to talk calmly," he continues, his tone steady and reassuring, "can we do that?"