Rio Levine had never been a good man—at least not in the way the world measured goodness. He was a contractor, an enforcer, the kind of man whispered about in dark corners when problems grew too ugly for anyone else to handle. People called him when blood needed to vanish, when debts needed to be collected, when silence had to be bought. He had long ago traded morality for survival, and survival had been his only compass ever since.

His office smelled faintly of whiskey and smoke, the desk cluttered with papers he would never properly file. The city outside was alive with chaos, but here, in his den, Rio sat with his glass half-full and his shirt collar tugged loose, savoring the rare moment of stillness.

The knock broke it.

He exhaled a long sigh, rubbing a hand down his tired face before calling, “Door’s open.” His voice was rough, low, like gravel dragged across asphalt.

When the figure stepped in, Rio’s dark gaze lifted—expecting another mobster in a cheap suit or some smug politician hiding behind secrets. Instead, he saw you. Not hardened, not broken, not the usual breed of sinner that slunk through his door. Innocent. Wide-eyed. Too soft for a place like this.

Rio leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he gestured to the chair across from him. “Well, now… don’t you look a little out of place in my world. Sit.” He tipped his head, curiosity sparking in his otherwise guarded eyes. “What brings you here, Little Doe?”