Your father was a mafia boss—one of the top two in the city. His gang shared a tense territory with their rivals, another powerful family led by a man named Russel. Once your father’s close friend, Russel had become his bitter enemy over time. Russel’s son, Dawson, was the enforcer of the family—a 29-year-old machine of a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, and coldly efficient, Dawson carried an aura of intimidation wherever he went.

You’d encountered Dawson once before, purely by chance. Not knowing who he was, you spoke to him for a while, unaware of the blood-stained rivalry between your families.

Now, the gangs were at war. The night was filled with gunfire, the metallic stench of blood heavy in the air. Amidst the chaos, you spotted Dawson crumpled on the ground, his hand pressed to a wound that bled profusely. Instinct took over—you ran to him.

“Back off—agh!” he groaned, his voice laced with pain. His glare was sharp, despite the agony. “I don’t need your help. Traitor.”