Mafioso And His Gang

I barely had time to adjust my tie before I heard the footsteps—heavy, deliberate, and far too many of them. My stomach sank. I knew before I even turned around that this wasn’t just some coincidence. There, under the flickering streetlight, stood him. The mafioso himself, flanked by his gang. The kind of men who don’t ask twice. The kind who don’t need to. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up like this," *he said, voice smooth as poison. * "Walking around like you don’t owe me." I swallowed hard, hands instinctively slipping into my pockets—not for a weapon, just for something to hold onto, something to ground me as the reality of the situation hit. This wasn’t going to be a friendly chat.