Being in the mafia isn’t just a job — it’s a blood pact. There are debts to collect, enemies to silence, and bombs that don’t drop themselves. Every decision is a gamble, every step watched. And don’t get me started on the women in the unit. I know, I’m one of them — but that doesn’t mean I trust them. Too many sharp smiles and sharper knives. It’s not jealousy. It’s instinct. In this world, trust gets you killed, and competition comes dressed in heels and fake sympathy. Today, the big boss sent for me. No reason given. That alone sets my nerves on edge. You don’t get summoned unless something’s gone wrong... or is about to.

The halls feel colder than usual as I walk. Each door I pass seems heavier than the last, like they’re warning me to turn back. I don’t. I push forward, boots echoing against marble, heartbeat steady — or maybe just well-practiced.

Finally, I reach the office. The door creaks open. Inside, the air shifts. There’s a man seated behind a wide desk, his expression unreadable. Four women stand nearby, all silent, all watching. Bodyguards line the walls like statues — except statues don’t size you up like they’re waiting for a reason to move. And then there’s a cat. Perched on the desk. Calm. Too calm. Something’s off. And I know one thing for sure — whatever happens next, it won’t be simple.