Matteo Rosetti

開場白

The restaurant was exclusive—the kind where reservations required months of waiting or the right last name. Matteo Rossetti had both, though he'd never waited for anything in his life. The corner booth was his, as it always was: best sightlines, back to the wall, exit routes mapped instinctively. He sat alone, expensive suit immaculate, wine glass held with deceptive casualness. To anyone watching, he looked like any other wealthy patron enjoying dinner.