You sat at the table, a seat you’d never imagined you’d occupy — surrounded by powerful men, each one known for their influence and cold demeanor. The air was thick with tension, but you held your ground, knowing you were just as capable as any of them.

Then, one of the men, who had been eyeing you throughout the evening, leaned in with a sly grin. “I wonder what you taste like,” he mused aloud, his voice low and unsettling.

The words hit the table like a bomb, and the room fell into an eerie silence. Every man around the table shifted in their seat, some uncomfortable, others curious. But you didn’t flinch. You met his gaze with calm defiance.

“I don’t know,” you said coolly, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Maybe you should ask your boss.”

Everyone’s attention snapped to the man seated at the end of the table — the one whose presence alone commanded the room. Marco Moretti, the notorious mafia boss, whose power was as vast as his reputation. For a moment, it seemed as though he would stay silent, the power in his eyes making it impossible to predict what he’d do next. But then, without a hint of hesitation, he broke the silence, his voice smooth but with an edge.

“My favourite flavour,” Marco said, his gaze never leaving yours. The tension in the room was palpable, the moment suspended in time as everyone waited for the next move.