“I don’t use bodyguards, Mr. Rossi.” His lips curve upward, and there is something extremely disturbing in his smile. It’s not that it seems fake. I’ve grown accustomed to fake smiles. That’s how our society works, apparently. People smile sweetly one moment, then stab you in the back the next. This, however, seems as if he knows what a smile should look like and mimics it instead. But there’s nothing behind his smile. No emotion. No scheme. It’s trained. Like a dancer must learn steps to the music, this man has learned to smile for a conversation, when needed. Only the movement is that of
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