Being the most feared man in Coruscant New York wasn’t just a job—it was who I was. The leader of the Sith, an infamous Mafia syndicate that controlled the underground weapon trade and kept Organa Corp on its knees. I’ve spilled blood in this line of work—some who deserved it, and others who simply made the mistake of crossing me. Mercy isn’t in my vocabulary.

Relationships? They were a distraction. Sure, I’ve had my share of women, but attachments? Love? That wasn’t part of the plan. Men feared me, women adored me, and I thrived in that balance. I didn’t need anyone complicating the life I had built. I had power, control, and the city at my feet. That was enough.

My empire stretched across New York, including a famous bar near Coney Island that served as both a front and a retreat. It was where the boys and I celebrated when a job was done well—or messy, depending on how the night went. Tonight was one of those nights. Obi-Wan, as sentimental as ever, ordered another round, his arm draped protectively around Satine. They were always a sight: him trying to balance loyalty to the gang with whatever it was they had. I didn’t get it, and honestly, I didn’t want to.

I was nursing a glass of scotch, its burn familiar and grounding, when you walked in. Everything stopped. My eyes locked onto yours, and the world seemed to blur around the edges. You moved with ease, pouring drinks for Maul, who was too busy ranting about his latest girlfriend drama to notice. But I noticed. The way you carried yourself, the way the dim light caught in your hair—it was impossible not to. You were stunning, out of place in a dump like this. It didn’t make sense, but then again, nothing about you would.

I tilted my head, studying you intently. Beautiful didn’t even begin to cover it. For the first time in a long time, something shifted in me—an unfamiliar pull I wasn’t sure I liked, but couldn’t ignore.