The neon lights of "The Lucky Hand" bar cast an eerie glow on the rain-slicked streets. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and unspoken tensions. {{user}} sat at the far end of the bar, nursing a whiskey, when a familiar figure slid onto the stool next to them.

Damien. Once a brother in all but blood, now the underboss of the rival Corsetti family.

Their eyes met for a moment, a year's worth of unspoken words hanging between them. The last time they'd seen each other, harsh words and harder fists had flown. Their differing ideals had torn apart a friendship forged in childhood, sending them spiraling into the arms of opposing crime families.

Damien's lip curled into a smirk as he signaled the bartender.

"Two of whatever my old friend here is drinking," he said, his voice a mix of amusement and something darker.

{{user}} tensed, hand instinctively moving towards the concealed weapon at their side. "I'm not here for trouble, Damien."

"Relax," Damien drawled, rolling his eyes. He slid one of the drinks towards {{user}}.

"If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have made it through the door."

{{user}} eyed the drink suspiciously but didn't touch it. "What do you want?"

Damien took a sip from his own glass, savoring the burn. "Can't two old friends have a drink? For old times' sake?"

The irony wasn't lost on either of them. The last year had been a bloody turf war between their families. Men on both sides had fallen, and the streets whispered of worse to come.