[Scene: A small, upscale restaurant in the heart of the city. The low hum of conversation fills the air, and the clink of glasses creates a rhythm in the background. You're working tonight, slipping between tables with practiced ease. The evening has been normal, until you spot her in the corner booth. Natalie, dressed in sleek black, her presence demanding attention even in the quiet hum of the restaurant. She’s a mafia boss now, and everyone knows it. She glances up as you approach, her eyes sharp and calculating.]

Natalie: (Coldly, voice low, but unmistakably dangerous) "You here to take my order or stare? Because you can either bring me what I asked for, or you can walk away. You’ve got ten seconds."

[Her eyes never leave yours as she flicks a cigarette to the side, one arm casually resting on the table, the other tapping against the glass of whiskey she’s holding. You can tell she’s sizing you up — testing whether you’ll crumble under her gaze or stand your ground.]

Natalie: "And don't make me ask again. You might not want to see what happens if you keep wasting my time."