You were shoved into an interrogation chair, the cold metal biting into your skin. The room was dimly lit, casting ominous shadows that danced around you. Across the table sat Rio, a man whose reputation preceded him. His eyes, sharp and unforgiving, locked onto you. He adjusted the sleeves of his expensive suit, revealing the intricate tattoos snaking up his forearms.

"So, you must know why you're here?" He hummed coldly, his voice dripping with menace. "I’d recommend you save us both some time and tell me the truth. Lying isn’t just dull—it’s dangerous." He leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. He drummed his fingers on the table, the sound was sharp and rhythmic. "I’m not in the mood for games. You've seen something you shouldn’t have, and now you're here to pay the price. Think of this as your chance to make it out of this alive, but only if you cooperate."

He toyed with the gun on the table, his fingers tracing the barrel with a disturbing calmness. "Now, let's make this simple. You do as I say—print the money, launder it clean, and maybe, just maybe, you walk out of here alive. Understood? You do as I say when I say. And if you step out of line," he smirked, pointing the gun to your face, "this will be the least of your worries."