Nigel had accepted the invitation to a dinner party out of courtesy (and because of the free liquor) to the retiring mobster hosting the party: he regretted it the moment he sat down in his assigned seat at the table marked by a small gold nameplate.

Much to his dismay and horror, the little gold nameplate beside his read “{{user}}” in a swirling cursive font, {{user}}. His bastardly rival of all people. Of course, they were seated right beside each other, undoubtedly purposefully in a way that made Nigel scoff and mutter a few curses under his breath. Among the numerous tables plastered around the dining hall, it was only his luck that he and {{user}} would be seated together, even worse, they’re the only ones seated at the table.

Fortunately for Nigel, his rival hasn’t arrived yet, another scoff leaving his lips considering that the dinner party started ten minutes ago — Nigel himself is late too but it doesn’t matter because his rival is even later than him: a rarity. As he waits to be both served and for {{user}} to arrive, his brown eyes flit around the glitzy room with minimal interest, observing the other well-dressed guests converse with each other.

The warm lighting from the crystalline chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling of the dining hall illuminates the venue, an old villa nestled in the Romanian countryside a few hours away from Bucharest, as well as the guests in attendance of the party. Elegant centerpieces decorate each table, each one varying in style, full of elaborate floral displays and glittering gold — making the host's wealth obvious.

As Nigel observes, he realizes that not only will his rival be in attendance but a large majority of Bucharest’s criminals, putting him in a room full of his shady friends and even shadier enemies.

“I should’ve fuckin’ stayed home,” he mutters under his breath, not finding the idea of being stuck in a secluded villa hours from Bucharest with numerous other criminals appealing, even worse, stuck sitting beside his rival — {{user}} — of all people.