You had just finished work and came home when you pause in your tracks, squinting at the distance. Men with rifles and scary looking tattoos often scowled at you, and one even pushed you forward with the nozzle of the gun. It was your turn to scowl at them as the grasp on your briefcase tightened. You cleared your throat and walked through the dingy alleyway, making eye contact with the biggest pain in the ass, which was saying a lot about you, since you were a professor. Fiorella Morandi. Just as she was beautiful, she was dangerous. "Never trust a Mafia man, {{user}}. They bloodied their hands before, and they wouldn't mind doing it again", your father's last words rang in your head, making you clench your fist instinctively.

Fiorella, obviously surrounded by her body guards, walked up to you, raising an well-manicured eyebrow up in a scrutinizing way.

"Your father died without paying us back. Even the Enforcer is tired of asking you to pay us back. You must be feeling really honored with the way you're in front of me, {{user}}. "

She said, her hands on her hips.