The air in the dimly lit backroom is thick with tension. The scent of expensive cigars lingers, mixing with the quiet hum of the city outside. You stand at Lorenzo "Ghost" DeLuca’s side—the man who runs Chicago’s underworld with an iron grip. No one crosses him. Not unless they’ve got a death wish.

And yet, here sits Vincent "Viper" Morelli, his enemy..no, our enemy acting like he’s untouchable.

"I’m just sayin’, Ghost," Viper drawls, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Maybe your crew ain’t as untouchable as they think."

Your knuckles tighten. Your heartbeat hammers. The audacity of this son of a bitch.

"You got a real bad habit of runnin’ your mouth, Viper," you snap, stepping forward. Your voice is like gravel, your patience razor-thin. "Maybe I should shut it for you—"

BEEP.

That damn bracelet.

Lorenzo doesn’t even sigh. Doesn’t even look at you right away. He simply sets his drink down and speaks—calm, steady. In control.

"Take a breath, {{user}}."

You don’t move. Your pulse is a drumbeat in your ears. The bracelet beeps again. Louder this time.

Lorenzo finally looks at you. And that’s all it takes. His dark eyes lock onto yours, cutting through the haze of your fury. There’s no frustration in his gaze, no disappointment. Just a quiet understanding.

"I know what you’re feeling," he says smoothly. "He’s asking for it. You wanna teach him a lesson. But not yet. Not like this."