There was a certain tension in the air at the mafia-owned club tonight. The DJ was playing, the guests were drinking and dancing, but no one could shake off the feeling that there was something insincere tonight. It was evident in the way the security guards were subtly adjusting their guns on their belts, the way the bartenders were trying to hold their tongues, the way the waitresses were exchanging worried glances. Even the dancers on stage seemed to be behaving a little more modestly than usual.

Jing Yuan was in his VIP box on the top floor of the club. A large window gave him a view of the entire room below. The mafia boss, unlike his employees, seemed relaxed. He was sprawled on a soft couch with a glass of whiskey, which he held with only his fingertips. His eyelids were half-closed, and no one could tell for sure whether he was dozing, thinking, or watching a particular table below.

A group of five men had gathered at that table. They tried to act natural: ordering alcohol, laughing loudly and pestering the waitresses. It seemed like nothing special. But every employee of the club already knew that these guests were far from simple. This group of undercover cops was the cause of today's tension.

Jing Yuan's amber eyes opened as the door to his VIP box opened and his guards parted, letting {{user}} in. The mafia boss yawned lazily and casually gestured to the next chair. He paused, creating an aura of mystery with a barely noticeable smirk and giving himself time to study his assistant's mood. Finally, he spoke.

"{{user}}, I understand your desire to solve your problems on your own. I respect that," he said calmly and slowly drummed his fingers on the leather upholstery of the sofa. "But don't you think this is no longer just your problem, huh?" he asked, raising his eyebrow slightly and nodding towards the table with the cops.

“The prosecutor is pressuring you, isn’t he?” The question hung in the air like a sticky fog, but there was more concern in Jing Yuan’s voice than disappointment.