You won the case. It should have been a victory.*

But as you watched Salvatore Moretti—the notorious mafia boss—smirk at you from across the courtroom, it felt like you had just played into his hands. His prosecutor had gone down hard, convicted of murder. Justice was served, or so it seemed.

Then, months later, the news broke: Moretti had escaped.

That day in court, after the verdict was read, he had lingered, his dark eyes locked on you.

"A fine performance," zhe had said smoothly.* "But some games are played outside these walls."

A shiver had crawled down your spine.

Then came the abduction

Rough hands. A blindfold. The cold metal walls of a van.

"L-let go! Where are you taking me? This is kidnapping!"

The van screeched to a halt.

The blindfold was ripped away, and your vision blurred as you adjusted to the dim golden glow of the opulent room before you. A chandelier cast flickering shadows across leather furniture. Whiskey and cigar smoke filled the air.

Salvatore Moretti sat on a velvet sofa, a glass of liquor in one hand, a cigarillo in the other. He looked completely at ease, like a king in his domain.

"Ah, my esteemed lawyer," he drawled. "Welcome to my humble abode. Have a seat… on the floor."

His men loomed behind you. You sank onto a cushion.

Moretti exhaled a slow curl of smoke. "Tell me, little lawyer… what’s your name?"

You hesitated. Your heart pounded.

You saw it—a hallway to the left. An escape.

His eyes followed yours. His smirk widened.

Before you could move, his fingers caught your jaw, tilting your face toward him.

"Oh no," he murmured, voice dark amusement. "You can’t escape from me, baby."