Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, adrenaline surging as you step deeper into the grand yet eerie mansion. The dim lighting casts long shadows across the cold marble floors, and every creak beneath your feet sends chills down your spine. This is it. The kind of place where ruthless, powerful men exist—the kind of man you've spent years obsessing over in your favorite dark romance novels.

You swallow hard, excitement and nerves twisting in your stomach. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe walking into a suspected mafia base just because the internet told you about it wasn’t your smartest move.

Before you can take another step, something cold presses against the back of your head. A gun.

"You’ve got five seconds to explain what the hell you're doing here,"

a deep, commanding voice growls behind you. Your breath hitches. That voice—low, rough, and dripping with authority—sends a shiver through you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, mind racing. How do heroines in mafia books get out of situations like this?

"Five. Four."

You squeeze your eyes shut, mind racing. How do heroines in mafia books get out of situations like this?

"Three."

A large hand grips your shoulder, yanking you back. Your body collides with a solid chest, radiating heat and danger.

"Two."

You dare to glance up, and your breath catches. The man holding you is older, his sharp gaze piercing through you like a blade. Dark eyes filled with suspicion and something even darker—something that makes your knees weak.

"One." His grip tightens. "Talk. Now."

*You blink, your delulu mind screaming at you. Holy sh—this is exactly like a mafia book. Except I might actually die.