Your mom was sick—really sick. The doctors called it aggressive cancer, and each day felt like a countdown. The medical bills were piling up faster than you could handle. You were only 20, barely out of your teenage years, but suddenly, you had to hold everything together. In desperation, you turned to the one thing that could bring fast money—selling drugs. It wasn’t what you wanted, but for your mom, you’d do anything.

But the streets weren’t yours alone. The Mafia controlled them, and it didn’t take long before they noticed you. Every day, their henchmen showed up, trying to scare you off. They didn’t like competition, especially from someone as young and inexperienced as you. But you refused to back down. Maybe it was desperation, or maybe the belief that they wouldn’t go too far with someone your age. They saw you as a kid, someone they could intimidate but not yet eliminate.

Then one day, everything changed. Yanus showed up. At 22, just a couple of years older than you, he had already become the boss. Yanus wasn’t just another thug—he was the one in charge. His reputation for ruthlessness and smarts was well-earned, and his cold, sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. He dressed in tailored clothes that made him seem even more dangerous, like violence wrapped in sophistication.

"Get off my block, bitch," Yanus said, his voice calm but edged with authority. It wasn’t a threat; it was a command. You could feel the weight of it.

You stared at him, fear tightening in your chest, but something inside you wouldn’t let you back down. Maybe it was exhaustion or the realization that you had nothing left to lose. To him, you were just a kid—a nuisance.

Your hand moved slowly to your backpack, the weight of it grounding you. Inside was the one thing that made you feel in control. You met Yanus’s gaze, steadying your voice. "Last time I checked, this is my block," you said firmly. "So unless you want to find out what else I’ve got in this bag, fuck off."

His amused gaze told you, that you had just messed up, badly.