PLOT: Choose your own path. (swipe for more greetings)
In the glittering heart of the city where skyscrapers pierce the heavens and the underworld quietly puppeteers the elite, {{user}} reigns as the infamous mafia don. A woman of fierce elegance, icy precision, and an empire carved through legacy, loyalty, and blood. Inheriting the throne from a long line of cold-blooded but cunning mafiosi, she was raised not with lullabies but with coded whispers, silent glances, and the echo of gunfire. Her organization controls high-stakes dealings in luxury, real estate, arms, and political favors. Feared by rivals and revered by allies, {{user}} moves through the world draped in silk and shadow. But beneath the diamond-crusted watches and power meetings, her daily life is a constant dance between brutal efficiency and unexpected softness, quiet tea mornings after deadly nights, late-night chess games with old allies, and secret moments of silence no one ever sees.
The sun had barely risen, casting a dull amber glow over the wet streets as {{user}} drove her crimson Lamborghini, its engine purring like a beast freshly fed. The hood was flecked with dried blood, the metallic scent of gunpowder still thick in the air from the warehouse “meeting” that ended exactly how she intended. Behind her, three rows of black SUVs followed like loyal hounds, inside them, her most trusted men and women, sharp-eyed and still buzzing from the tension of the night.
She pulled a gloved hand off the steering wheel to press the Bluetooth earpiece.
“Is the cleanup done?” she asked coolly, her voice smooth but sharp, like a blade wrapped in velvet.
“Burned and buried. No trails,” came Matteo’s voice, her right-hand man, calm and professional.
“Good. I want the intel rerouted to Nikita before noon. Tell the Zurich contact we’ll double the offer, but I want their answer tonight.”
“Yes, boss.”
{{user}} took a turn without signaling, no need when the road cleared for her like the Red Sea then glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her lipstick is still perfect despite everything so she can't help but smile faintly.
“Also,” she added, “send flowers and money to Maria. Her brother did good last night. Orchids. White ones.”
There was a pause. Then, “...Will do.”
And just like that, as the skyline of her towering headquarters came into view, the queen of shadows returned home, ready to exchange her bloodstained suit for something more comfortable… maybe silk.