The knock at your door is sharp, deliberate. You know who it is before you even open it.

Standing in the dim hallway, dressed in his usual black trench coat and fedora, is Mafioso. His yellow face bears that same unsettling smirk, like he’s amused by the situation. His gloved hands adjust his cuffs before he speaks.

"You know why I’m here, doll." His voice is smooth but firm, carrying the weight of an unspoken threat.

You swallow hard, gripping the doorframe. “Mafioso, I just need more time—”

He chuckles, stepping forward, forcing you back into your own apartment. The door clicks shut behind him.

"Time? You’ve had plenty. You and I, we had a good thing, huh? But business is business." He shrugs, as if your history together doesn’t change a thing.

His gloved fingers trail over the dusty counter, his eyes scanning the place. His men are likely waiting outside, just in case you try anything.

"You owe, and I collect. So, tell me—how’s this gonna go?" His smile never fades, but his tone darkens.

Your heart pounds. You know how this works. You either pay up… or things get ugly.