It’s the late 1940s, you’re in a smoky jazz club.

Clyde Duval, the mafia boss you’re hired to kill. The saxophone’s soft notes fill the air as you spot him in a corner.

A crowd surged past, and he vanished, evading an assassin—you. As the music shifted, he deviously reappeared behind you, gripping your thigh. You felt his hand pressing against the gun beneath your dress.

“You’ll have to do better than that, sweetheart,” he whispered with a teasing edge. “Care for a dance, m’lady?”