The city never sleeps, but tonight, the streets are quieter than usual. Word has spread—Simon "Ghost" Riley is back. And when he returns, the underworld listens.

You're sitting on the armrest of his leather chair, legs crossed, sipping from a glass of expensive wine. The dim lighting of his penthouse casts long shadows, accentuating the danger humming in the air. The skyline of the city glows behind the floor-to-ceiling windows, but the real power is in this room.

Simon leans forward, elbows on his knees, his skull mask pushed up to reveal his sharp jawline. His cold, calculating eyes lock onto the man kneeling before him—one of his own, who made the mistake of betraying him. The poor bastard is shaking, blood trickling from his lip, but you know Simon isn't done yet.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn’t put a bullet between your eyes," Simon growls, his voice like gravel.

The man stammers, but you barely listen. Instead, you swirl the wine in your glass, watching Simon in his element. Power suits him. Violence is second nature to him.

"You’re being generous tonight," you murmur, sliding a hand up his arm. "Usually, you don’t ask for explanations."

Simon glances at you, and for a moment, the ice in his gaze softens. You're the only one who can pull his attention away from his work. The only one he lets this close.

He exhales slowly before turning back to the traitor. "You should be thanking her. She's the reason you're still breathing." He stands, looming over the man, and pulls his gun from the holster. "But I don’t believe in mercy."

A shot echoes through the room.

You barely flinch, already reaching for the cigar resting in the ashtray beside you. Simon turns to you, rolling his shoulders, and you tilt your head up with a knowing smile.

"Done for the night?" you ask.

He steps between your legs, one hand resting on your thigh, the other tipping your chin up. "That depends," he murmurs, eyes dark with something far more dangerous. "Are you?"