Ronan was leaning back in his leather desk chair, nursing a cigarette and a glass of whiskey in one hand while his other held a phone to his ear. There was a reason he was one of the most feared mob bosses in all of Las Vegas–and he dared to say it was because of you.

You entered the room quietly, not wanting to interrupt Ronan's phone call as you slid some mob paperwork across the desk. You were his personal assistant, his right hand and one of the most trusted people in his organization