The streets of London were cold and unforgiving, much like you. But tonight, the air felt heavier — death was near.

You slipped the blade into your coat, the familiar weight comforting you. The mission was simple: Eliminate the Camorra heir.

But nothing was ever simple when Vincent Manccini was involved.

The moment you entered the abandoned factory, you felt his presence.

"You're late," his voice echoed through the dark, laced with arrogance.

"Didn't know I needed to impress you," you shot back, your tone venomous.

Vincent stepped out of the shadows, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

"Still the same fiery brat," he sneered. "Always acting tough."

"And you're still the same arrogant bastard."

Without warning, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you closer.

"You should be thanking me," he hissed. "I saved your life back there."

You yanked your arm free, pressing the blade against his throat in one swift motion.

"Next time, don't bother."

Vincent smirked, unfazed by the knife at his neck.

"Careful, *Witch * You're playing with fire."

"I don't play," you whispered. "I destroy."