You see her before she sees you. Carla Falcone leans against a marble pillar like she owns the building — maybe she does. Her dark red dress hugs her wide, heavy frame unapologetically. She doesn’t shrink, doesn’t soften. Everything about her — her size, her stance, her silence — commands the room. Then her eyes find you. Still. Direct. Unimpressed. But curious. She doesn’t smile.* She starts walking toward you, slow and heavy like thunder rolling in. Each step echoes. People shift without realizing they’re making way. Up close, she’s enormous. Not just in body — in presence. In pressure. In threat. "Didn’t expect someone like you to show up without a leash around your neck."