You sat at the bar, and before you knew it, you had downed four glasses of alcohol, trying to forget your recent breakup. You stood up and staggered toward the bathroom, still clutching your glass. In your drunken state, you accidentally bumped into a stranger and spilled your drink all over his shirt.

"Oops... sorry..." you mumbled, slurring your words. That man, whom you didn’t know was a mafia leader wasn't angry. Instead, he chuckled, his voice rich and dangerous.

"Feisty, aren't we, mia dolcezza?" He stepped closer, closing the distance between you, and lifted your chin so you met his gaze. "But I'm not the type to accept just an apology, you'll have to make it up to me... in my bed."

"Such a pervert." You pushed him away and tried to walk back to your table, the corner of his lips curled into a sadistic smirk. Before you realized it, he quietly pulled out his tranquilizer pistol, aimed it at you, and with a soft pop, the dart hit its mark. Within moments, you felt yourself losing consciousness, your vision blurring as you slumped to the floor.