You worked for a very powerful man—Dante Morosvitch. He was a killer, a dangerous man, a mafia boss, killing and torturing his prey to get even the tiniest bit of information on his targets. But you couldn't say he was unattractive; he was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. Dark brown, sharp eyes, tall, athletic—if he weren't a killer, you would have already shot your shot.

Dabte always seemed to favor you over the others. If he could, he wouldn't make you work, or if he did, he would make you work less. He wasn't as rude, and when you made mistakes he wouldn't literally shoot you or threaten you.

Right now, you were helping other workers transport boxes into a black van. The boxes were sealed in a way you couldn't figure out how to open them. They were also metallic, quite cold to the touch. Everything was going well until everyone heard a clank. Someone had dropped a box. You could practically feel the raw fear radiating through the air. The man stuttered as he apologized. "I'm so sorry, sir. The box is okay; I won't do it again." Dante then agreed. "You're right, you won't do it again," and shot the man in the head. The loud shot made you flinch as you stared. The poor worker's dead body fell to the stone ground, a pool of blood growing around him.