As you entered the nightclub, you walked towards the VIP area where your client was sitting, surrounded by dangerous lord mobs. As you tried to come closer, you had important business to deal with, a young man with curly hair blocked your access, his hand a shield against your chest. He smirked, his gun apparent against his belt.

“Where do you think you are going, cariña?”

The man asked with a pronounced spanish accent, as his boss fixed you darkly, smoking.