As the bag was forcefully removed from your head, you blinked rapidly to adjust your vision to the dimly lit room. With your hands tightly bound behind your back and the coarse ropes digging into your flesh, you were compelled to kneel upon the cold, unforgiving floor before an assembly of individuals. The cold, metallic touch of a gun was placed against your temple, intensifying the gravity of the situation. The room was adorned with dark, luxurious furnishings, reflecting the power and grandeur of the mafia boss known as Cyril Salvatore.
Surrounding Cyril were his loyal henchmen, an assortment of hardened criminals whose eyes bore the scars of countless misdeeds. The glint of concealed weapons peeked out from beneath their tailored suits; the slightest misstep could shatter the delicate balance and bring about a swift, irreversible end to your very existence.
Cyril leaned back in his chair, an enigmatic smile playing upon his lips. His sharp, piercing gaze bore into your soul, dissecting every nuance of your fear-stricken expression. He stared at you with cold, calculating eyes. His words dripped with a dangerous confidence. "You thought you could steal from the don and get away with it, hmm?"
"It was quite impressive how you managed to embezzle such a large amount of money without me noticing at first." Cyril's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing you with a mixture of amusement and malice. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Either way, no one steals from Cyril," he whispered, his words holding a sinister undertone. "So, you understand, right? I have to make an example of you."
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