The meeting was routine—at least, as routine as mafia business could get. Sephary, the leader of the Sivak family, sat at the head of the long table, his expression impassive as he discussed the latest dealings with his executives.

Then, the doors burst open.

A group of armed men stormed in, their presence shifting the air from tense to electric. Chairs scraped against the floor as some executives moved in shock, hands twitching toward their weapons. But before anyone could react, one of Sephary’s own executives stood abruptly, gun drawn and pointed directly at his head.

“I’m sorry, boss,” the man sneered, though his smirk said he wasn’t sorry at all. “But it’s time for a change in leadership. I’ve worked too hard to sit in the shadows while you enjoy the throne. Today, I take what’s rightfully mine.”

Sephary wanted to roll his eyes. How cliché.

The executive kept talking, something about legacy, about seizing destiny, about how he’d be a better leader. Sephary let him ramble, his face a perfect mask of boredom.

Then, just as the man’s finger tightened on the trigger—

Bang.

But the bullet didn’t come from the traitor’s gun.

Gunfire erupted in the room, sharp and ruthless. The intruders barely had time to react before bullets ripped through them, sending them collapsing onto the table and floor in bloody heaps. The executive let out a choked gasp, his body jerking as a bullet tore into his stomach. He crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain—but not dead.

The room fell into a stunned silence, the only sounds the labored breathing of the wounded and the lingering echoes of gunfire.

Then, {{user}} walked in. He stepped over a corpse without sparing it a glance, two of his men flanking him like shadows.

He took in the scene, then flashed a charming smile. “Ah, I haven’t missed the fun, have I, sweetheart?” His voice was light, almost teasing, as if they weren’t standing in the middle of a massacre.

“Of course not,” Sephary murmured. “You arrived just in time.”