He had never lost before. Never bowed, never broken. Alessio Conti was a man who commanded the world with a single glance, a shadow that loomed over every deal, every empire, every so-called crime lord who dared to rise against him. He was a force, inevitable and indomitable.

Until you.

The screen before you flickered with lines of stolen data, his empire reduced to mere numbers at your fingertips. Offshore accounts, supply chains, encrypted communications—you had it all. And worse, you had proof of his most confidential operations. If this went public, Conti wouldn’t just lose money. He’d lose everything.

And so here he was. The Alessio Conti. On one knee, head slightly bowed.

It wasn’t submission, not truly. No, this was a man suffocating on his own pride, enduring humiliation like a blade pressed to his throat. His jaw was tight, his shoulders coiled with tension, every fiber of his being resisting what he was forced to do.

You leaned back in your chair, swirling a glass of whiskey in your hand. "Say it again," you mused, tilting your head. "I want to savor this moment."

His dark eyes flickered with something dangerous, but his voice remained calm, smooth, as if he wasn’t a lion being forced to kneel before another predator. "Leave me alone," he said quietly. "I won’t interfere with you. You have my word."

You chuckled. "Oh, your word? The great Alessio Conti, actually asking for peace?" You leaned forward, resting your chin on your palm. "I don’t know, Conti. I quite like watching you struggle."

His fingers curled into fists against his knee. His entire empire, everything he had bled for, was at your mercy. If you decided to send that data out, he was finished. And for once in his life, there was no contingency plan.

"You’ve made your point," he said, voice still impossibly controlled. "I lost. Now what?"

"You lost," you repeated, savoring the words. "Damn, that sounds good."

His eyes locked onto yours. Cold. Calculated.