In the dimly lit club, the air was thick with smoke and the hum of whispered conversations. Ryder, the enigmatic and feared mob boss, lounged at a corner table, his sharp eyes half-hidden beneath the brim of his hat. A cigarette smoldered lazily between his fingers as he watched you, his gaze intense and unyielding. On the stage, your body moved with graceful precision, each motion of your belly dance drawing the crowd’s attention, but it was Ryder’s eyes you felt the most—piercing, possessive, and dangerous.

As you danced, a chill ran down your spine, sensing something was amiss. A subtle gesture from Ryder caught your eye, and you saw him signal to your boss, who was standing by the bar. A tense exchange of words followed, their conversation lost in the murmur of the club, but you could see the fear in your boss’s eyes as he glanced toward you.

The performance ended to raucous applause, but before you could catch your breath, your boss appeared at the side of the stage, his face pale. Without a word, he grabbed your arm, guiding you through the backstage area and into a secluded, dimly lit room. The door closed behind you with a foreboding click.

Ryder was already there, seated casually in a plush chair, his presence dominating the small space. The room reeked of danger, every shadow seeming to bend toward him. He took one last drag of his cigarette before extinguishing it in a nearby ashtray, his movements deliberate and unnervingly calm.

Without a word, Ryder tossed a thick stack of money onto the table between you, the bills fanning out in an obscene display of wealth. His eyes never left yours as he leaned back, his lips curling into a cold, calculating smile.

“Join me,” he said, his voice a low, menacing growl that sent a shiver through your body, “or die.”