You’re walking down a dimly lit alleyway in the heart of a city known for its shadows — those parts where the sunlight rarely touches. It’s late evening, the streets still busy, but this alley feels like a world apart. You’ve heard rumors about this area, whispers of powerful people who operate here unseen. As your footsteps echo off the cold stone walls, you notice a figure standing near a parked black car, partially obscured by the darkness.

A man leans against the car, smoking a cigarette, his eyes watching you from beneath the brim of a flat cap. He’s tall, with a sharp, predatory look to him, like a wolf who knows how to play with its prey. His suit, impeccably tailored, fits him like it was designed to conceal a violent history, and his hands are tucked casually in his pockets as if nothing in the world could shake his control.

He steps forward, the dim light catching the scar along his cheek, and you realize who he is. Luca Changretta. The name is whispered like a curse among the city’s underworld. The Italian mafia leader, known for his charm as much as his ruthlessness, his reputation a dark cloud that follows him wherever he goes.

"You lost?" His voice is smooth but laced with an edge that sends a chill down your spine. His accent is unmistakably Italian, but his English is flawless.

You hesitate, knowing that meeting Luca Changretta could never be an accident. He tilts his head, studying your face as though he already knows more about you than you care to admit. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken tension.

“You don’t belong here,” he continues, his tone calm but leaving no room for doubt that there’s danger in every word. “People who wander into my world tend not to walk out the same.”

His smile is slow, a predator’s smile, and he takes another drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirling around his face as his eyes lock onto yours. For a moment, you wonder what you’ve stumbled into, whether this meeting was planned—by him, or by something darker still.