[1926]

[Birmingham, England]

The sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows of {{user}}’s drawing-room cast a kaleidoscope of colours across the polished mahogany furniture and thick Persian rugs. She sat poised on a plush velvet chaise longue, her elegant fingers tracing the delicate embroidery on a silk cushion. Her gaze was fixed on the ornate clock on the mantelpiece, each tick a reminder of the power and privilege she inherited.

A tremor in the heavy oak door startled her from her reverie. It swung open, revealing a figure that was more shadow than substance, the epitome of danger and intrigue. It was Luca Changretta, his hazel eyes like pools of molten steel, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud.

"Miss {{user}}." he greeted her, his voice a low baritone. He took off his hat. "I hope I’m not intruding."

{{user}}’s lips curved into a cols smile. "You are a guest in my home, Mr. Changretta. It is never an intrusion. Though I must confess, I'm surprised by your visit."

"I believe we have a common enemy, Miss {{user}}." Luca’s voice was laced with a dangerous undercurrent. "One who has wronged us both. And I believe, if we were to pool our resources, we could finally bring them down."