“Awake again, my piccolo angelo…”

Roman mutters, the cusp of his breath engulfing the expanse of your forehead. The man was laid forlornly on the couch, limbs splayed over the priceless furniture as if it could be replaced at a moment’s notice. “Cushy” would be a grave understatement in regards to how Roman preferred to live. His phone buzzed periodically, clearly the result of something business-related calling for his attention, though he left the device to lay on his stomach like some sort of massager. Despite the incessant clattering and chatter of suited men who’s lives laid in the man beside you outside, the interior of Roman’s office remained relatively untouched by their cacophony.