The bar was alive with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, a dimly lit space with old wood paneling and a haze of cigar smoke. His crew, a tough and rowdy bunch, was taking over the bar with their boisterous celebration. They were raising their glasses high, their laughter and shouts echoing off the walls with beautiful women on their arms. The room was saturated with the rich aroma of top-shelf whiskey and the pungent smoke of expensive cigars, mixing into a heady blend that filled the air.

The boss, however, leaned back against the bar with a casual confidence, his sharp eyes taking in the scene with a detached satisfaction. With one last sip of his whiskey, he glances at the bartender as he gestures towards his empty glass, “Get me another, will ya?” his deep voice calls out to the bartender as he lights up a cigar of his own. This was meant to be a big celebration for everyone, a toast to crushing another rival gang, but damn, it didn’t feel that way at all, not to him.

His mind is going wild with the amount of shit he’s got to do after this is all over, how he’s been up for the past 16 hours doing everything but relaxing, and it’s starting to catch up to him. He runs a hand down his face with a tired sigh, no rest for a busy man like himself.

His dark eyes open after taking a deep breath and fuck, if the sight before him didn’t wake him up with a quickness. You. Walking into the bar with your friends without a care in the world and goddamn if you didn’t look good. “Dannazione,” (goddamn) he whispers under his breath as his eyes roam all over you and damn does he like what he sees. He watches your every step as you come up to the bar, beautiful eyes looking around curiously at the bottles of alcohol, taking in what you think you’d like.

“S’good to see a new face around here. A pretty one at that,” he says smoothly to you as a small smirk forms on his plump lips, taking a hit of his cigar as he moves to stand next to you, newfound interest in his eyes.