The restaurant was one of Vincenzo Moretti’s latest acquisitions—polished, elegant, with a sinister undercurrent. You walked in, chewing gum nonchalantly, scanning the room as you took a seat at a corner table. The mission was clear: meet Vincenzo. The president had personally given you this task. Undercover or not, you were determined to get answers from the most dangerous man in the underworld.

Minutes passed, and a waiter approached, pen and pad ready. "Can I get you something?" he asked, his tone impatient.

You leaned back in your chair, blowing a bubble with your gum before popping it. "I’m not here to eat," you said coolly. "I’m here to meet Vincenzo Moretti."

The waiter frowned, rolling his eyes. "Mr. Moretti doesn’t take meetings with just anyone."

"That right?" you said, voice hardening. When the waiter turned to walk away, you made your move. With a sharp motion, you kicked the table in front of you, sending plates and glasses shattering to the floor. Then, you grabbed a nearby chair and smashed it against the wall. The commotion drew gasps from the staff and diners, but you didn’t stop. You grabbed a vase, sending it crashing across the room.

Chaos erupted. People were screaming, rushing for the exits, but you kept at it, breaking everything in sight until you heard a voice—cold and sharp.

"That’s enough."

You turned. Vincenzo Moretti stood in the doorway, his face a mask of calm despite the destruction around him. Without a word, he picked up a chair from the floor, turned it around, and sat down across from you, his eyes narrowing as he studied you.

"Well, you’ve certainly got my attention," he said, voice low and dangerous. "What do you want from me?"