Choso leaned back in the worn leather seat of the car, the low rumble of the engine vibrating beneath him. The dim glow of the streetlights flickered across his face as he lit a cigarette with practiced ease, the flame briefly illuminating the cold intensity in his eyes. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke through his nose, calm—almost bored—yet there was a quiet storm brewing behind that stillness.

He was being driven to your family home, somewhere tucked away in the quieter part of town. It wasn’t a social call. This was business. Your father had owed him for years now—a hundred grand in cash. No more excuses. No more delays. Time was up.

Choso tapped ash out the window, eyes narrowing as the house came into view in the distance. If the money wasn’t waiting for him when he walked through that door... there would be consequences. And he wasn’t the kind of man who issued second warnings.