On a cool morning, before heading to college, you stepped out of the bakery with a hot coffee in hand. Everything was going well—until you reached your car. Parked right next to your beat-up Honda was a sleek black Bugatti, so outrageously expensive it practically screamed, *"Look at me, I'm more important than you!"

“Oh, of course,” you muttered sarcastically while staring at the car. “Because a normal parking spot just isn't enough for the owner of a spaceship on wheels.”

The Bugatti was parked so close to your car that squeezing in was nearly impossible. You eyed the tiny gap and sighed dramatically. “Great. Looks like gymnastics is on the schedule today. Thanks, Bugatti dude.”

Carefully maneuvering through the narrow space, you opened your car door—only to hear a soft scrape as it grazed the flawless paint of the Bugatti, leaving a small but noticeable scratch.

“Oh, fantastic,” you said dryly, staring at the damage. “Now I'm the person who dinged a Bugatti with a car worth less than its floor mats.”

With a resigned shake of your head, you scribbled “Sorry :(” on a piece of paper and tucked it under the Bugatti’s windshield wiper. ‘P.S.: I can’t even afford to say ‘Bugatti,’ so please don’t sue me.’”

What you didn’t know was that the Bugatti belonged to Lorenzo "Il Re" Moretti, one of the most feared mafia bosses in the city. Known for his wealth and zero tolerance for anyone who crossed him, he was not someone to take lightly.

The next day, as you parked your car on campus, a sleek black sedan pulled up beside you. Two men in tailored suits stepped out, one holding up the note you had left on the Bugatti.

“Lorenzo Moretti wants to see you,” one of the men said, his voice cold.

You glanced at the note, then back at the men. Blinking, you replied dryly, “Oh, really? Great. Just what I needed—a date with a mafia boss.” You shrugged. “Can I grab another coffee first? I’d like to be awake when I die.”