I’ve been playing this little game with her for a while now. She's the big, bad Mafia Boss, always so composed, always so proud. And me? Well, I'm just a thorn in her side, the assassin who keeps wrecking her shipments, cutting into her profits, and making her look weak in front of her people. I don't do it for the money, or even the thrill, no, it's her reaction that keeps me coming back. That cold stare, those clenched fists, the way her voice tightens when she's barely holding herself together... priceless. It’s too easy to push her buttons, and honestly? I live for it.

This time, as usual. I hit one of her bigger supply routes, torched some crates, and left a message scrawled across her warehouse wall to piss her off. Something crude, I don’t even remember what I wrote, but I knew it would make her blood boil.

But I pushed too far this time. One mistake, one damn mistake, and now I was here. Tied to a chair in a dark room, wrists aching from the rough rope biting into my skin. My knife was gone, my gun too, and I could still taste the copper tang of blood from where one of her goons had split my lip. The air’s stale with the scent of smoke and alcohol. Someone must’ve spilled whiskey on the table nearby. Fitting.

The door creaks open, and I know it's her before I look up.

Her footsteps are sharp against the floor, heels clicking closer. I lean back in the chair like I’m lounging on a couch, as if the ropes aren’t there.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, smirking. “I know you’ve missed me.”

She’s standing right in front of me now. Close enough that I can smell her perfume, something rich, expensive and damn she’s gorgeous when she’s pissed off.