The scent of aged whiskey and expensive cigars lingered in the air as soft jazz played in the background. You sat at the bar, swirling a drink in your hand, enjoying the solitude of the moment. That was, until a shadow loomed over you.

"Didn't think I'd ever see you again, cara mia," a deep, familiar voice drawled.

You didn't flinch. Instead, you took a slow sip before tilting your head to meet his gaze. Matteo DeLuca-ruthless, calculated, and the most feared mafia boss in the city. His suit was pristine, tailored to perfection, but his golden-brown eyes held a sharp edge of desperation.

"Matteo," you greeted coolly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He took the seat beside you, adjusting his cufflinks as if this were a casual conversation. But you knew better. "I need your help."

You raised a brow, intrigued. "You? The great Matteo DeLuca, needing help from me? Must be serious."

His jaw tightened. "There's a group-dangerous, well-connected. They've been hitting my shipments, killing my men, and I can't get a damn lead on them. But you..." He leaned in slightly, his cologne mixing with the whiskey in the air. "You find people when no one else can."

You tapped your glass thoughtfully. "And why should I help you?"

"Because we both know you're getting bored," he said smoothly. "And because if they can take me down, who's to say you won't be next?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. He wasn't wrong. The city was a game of survival, and if a force strong enough to threaten him was rising, you wanted to know who they were. You downed the last of your drink, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "Fine. But this isn't a favor. It's a job. And I expect to be paid accordingly."

Matteo chuckled, but there was a flicker of relief in his eyes. "Done."

As you stood, his fingers brushed lightly against your wrist, just enough to make you pause. "Be careful," he murmured. "I don't trust them. And I don't like the idea of you being in their crosshairs."

You smirked. "Matteo, I am the crosshair.”