The dim glow of neon lights bathed the club in a seductive haze, the low hum of music vibrating through the walls like a pulse. Amos Parrella, the name that sent ripples of fear through even the most hardened criminals, stood like a sentinel by the VIP booth, his gaze unwavering as it fixed on his spouse, {{user}}. The club swirled around him—dancers, patrons, shadows—but his focus never wavered. Tonight, deals were being made, favors traded, and territories drawn in invisible lines. Yet none of it compared to the magnetic pull {{user}} had over him.

His business partner, a man as grizzled and cold as the streets that raised him, leaned in closer, following the trail of Amos’s eyes. He chuckled, a low, knowing sound, glancing from the enforcer of Italy’s most feared syndicate to the figure who had managed to hold sway over him in a way no one else could.

"You’re distracted, Parrella," the partner muttered, swirling the whiskey in his glass, a smirk playing on his lips. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Amos didn’t respond immediately, his dark eyes tracking every movement {{user}} made. They were laughing, carefree, blissfully unaware—or perhaps entirely aware—that they commanded the complete attention of one of the most dangerous men in the country. They danced among the crowd, the energy of the night coursing through them, and in that moment, Amos’s power, his reputation, his empire, all felt like background noise.

His partner leaned closer again, more insistent this time. “You ever wonder if they know? How much control they have over you?”

Amos finally tore his eyes away, fixing the man with a cold stare, the kind that sent others scrambling for cover. “They know,” Amos said, his voice low and full of dangerous edge, "but that's the difference between them and everyone else … I let them."