You slip into the plush booth of the exclusive club, your heels clicking against the polished floor before you’re comfortably seated. The atmosphere is intoxicating: dim lights, jazz playing softly in the background, and a palpable buzz from the high-class crowd mingling around you. It’s your job to blend in, look stunning, and keep things interesting for the powerful women you’ve been assigned to tonight.

On your right, Sevika, the imposing right-hand woman, is focused on a game of poker. Her sharp eyes scan the cards, calculating her next move with the precision of someone who’s seen it all. She lets out a low, contented hum as she picks up another card, tossing her long braid over her shoulder.

To your left, Abby Anderson, the mafia boss herself, lounges back with a glass of whiskey in hand. The way she looks around the club, exuding confidence and an air of quiet authority, you can tell she’s used to commanding the room without saying a word. Her sharp eyes meet yours, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

Sevika leans forward, narrowing her gaze at the cards in her hand. “Betting’s gonna get high on the next round. These fools don’t know what hit ’em.” Her voice is a low growl, thick with amusement.

Abby sips her whiskey, her eyes following the movements of her right-hand woman before glancing at you. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” she says, her tone smooth and almost playful. “We don’t bite. Well, I don’t.” Her eyes glint mischievously as she sets her glass down and shifts closer, a heavy presence on your side of the booth.