Novel & Cerita Pantalone X Dottore

Her face wore the expression of a harmless woman who had wandered into the wrong building. That expression, of course, was the most lethal thing about her. Dante was already standing in the main salon when all three of them descended. Black tuxedo, slim satin lapel, hair combed back without a strand out of place. Patek Philippe on his left wrist, his mother’s ring on his right pinky. One button of his white shirt deliberately open below the onyx tie knot. He was studying the darkness beyond the large windows when he heard heels on the staircase.

“You’re a good doc, Domino, but I’m going to need you to butt out this time.” I laugh. Dante’s voice is beautiful. “Fine!” Dr. Domino throws his hands up. “See what I care. You’re getting on a fucking plane, anyway.” He yanks a few orange prescription bottles out of the pocket of his leather duster. “Take these if you don’t want to die of infection.” He slams them down on top of the mini-fridge next to the door and storms out. Dante doesn’t wait a second before racing to join me in bed. Still, I notice the way his left leg drags behind him a little. And the sling—

"Perfect." He pursed his lips, thoughtful. "And him…?" He looked into space, as if Zacky were there. "Just pants. Nothing else." Victor sighed, bringing his hand to his chest. "Ah… that man shirtless must be a vision from heaven. A true divine gift to contemporary fashion." The saleswoman just smiled. --- Meanwhile, Dolores left the room for a few minutes, leaving Zacky alone. He took the opportunity to fiddle with his own phone, racking his brains trying to talk to the foreman.

Nothing we say to her seems to pacify her. “And what about my dress?” she screams and faces me, tugging at her ruined dress. “Do you know how expensive this is? Do you have any idea what you’ve done? This is a Marchesa. A one-of-a-kind, designer piece! It’s worth a hundred times more than your whole life's earnings!” I take a step closer to her, extending my hands towards a stained part of her dress. “Ma'am, please let me try to wash off the stains. I can—”

Sometimes probably but right now I want to wear my big boy’s pants or big girl’s in this scenario anyway. A minute passed. I rang the doorbell again. Finally, I heard the faint sound of footsteps, which grew louder until the door swung open and I found myself face-to-face with the angel of death. He’d taken off his jacket, but otherwise, he still wore his work outfit— a charcoal gray, two-piece suit from Brunello Cucinelli crafted from ultra fine Merino wool and silk blend. A white Turnbull button down shirt. A Loro Piana navy blue cashmere crewneck sweater over his shirt. His trousers tailored so perfectly and with his John lobb leather shoes, he looked so perfectly put together and I looke

I don't know what yet, but something is definitely wrong. The moment I close my door, I cross straight to the box again. I examine the coat more carefully and snap another photo, this time capturing the whole coat, then carefully check for any other identifying marks. No brand label visible on the outside, but when I check the inner collar, I find it. Bellatore. Milano. My fingers tremble slightly as I type the name into G****e. The results load, and my eyes widen. Bellatore is a high-end Italian brand that specializes in custom loungewear and robes. I click through to their website, and the prices confirm it. We're talking thousands of dollars for a personalized robe or coat.

Namgyu breathed, Jun 's beauty had made his breath hitch the moment he opened the door. The doctor stood there in a black turtleneck, pastel pink long coat, formal but skinny pants and a pair of black velvety moccasins on his feet. His hair was perfectly styled to one side like Namgyu 's, forehead exposed. His lips looked plumper and pinker. His brows were better carved than the last time the mayor had seen him. His dotted, diamond earrings brought more attention to his perfect face, not the least hidden by his glasses.

“That’s why you have me, mi amor. I’d love to help. When do you want to go?” “Today,” Aria said, tossing her curls. “I managed to convince the driver to be free today.” As if on cue, Dante stepped inside. To be honest there should be a law against him looking that good in sweatpants. He wore a plain white T-shirt that showed off his tattoos snaking down his arms, the fabric clinging to his muscular chest. His grey sweatpants sat low on his hips, and I could actually see the ridges of his abs under the thin cotton. His blue eyes scanned the room like a damn panther looking for prey and that little amusement I felt seconds ago disappeared.

With deft movements born of extensive practice, Pierre fastidiously adjusts each piece until the look is perfected. "Magnifique! But it requires the finishing touch!" Pierre declares dramatically. Snapping his fingers, he barks orders in rapid French to his assistants, who scurry off obediently. Within moments, they return bearing a tray with various accessories cufflinks, belts, shoes polished to a mirror shine. With deft movements born of extensive practice, Pierre fastidiously adjusts each piece until the look is perfected. Pierre hands him a pair of pants to go change into Eli's eyes widen in shock as he sees the exorbitant price tag dangling from the designer dress pants Pierre handed h

If we came across Adonis, then I wouldn't want him to follow me to my home and jeopardise my safety. Cole picked another picture from the back of his file and pointed his finger at the man standing beside Domenico, his face covered with a black surgical mask. He wore a casual white shirt over his rugged body, the long sleeves of which were folded, revealing a tattoo on his arm—a skull on a pile of dried roses, a crown of thorns on its head, blood trickling down the sides of its forehead. “That’s Vitale?” I asked, with my eyes wide at Cole.