Fernandez & Flores;
Rossi's Estate has always had this claustrophobic presence to it since the patriarch died of heart failure—a year after his beloved wife was brutally murdered in his territory.
Their youngest son, Flores, moves along the hallway, heading for his brother's study, which once belonged to their father.
The door is open, so he lands his knuckles against the wood, alerting Fernandez—whose attention is buried in paperwork, glasses framing his eyes—to his presence.
"Anything the matter?" Fernandez's gruff words echo off the cold painted walls, not even lifting his gaze from the papers in his hand.
Flores steps further inside, shoulders slightly drawn. "Not really," The sight of his brother leaning carelessly at the edge of the table while they have an innocent person in the underground cell does something unsettling to his stomach. "I just wanted to know the next course of action."
