The cold steel of the handcuffs dug into your wrists as you stood in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the sweet smell of cigar smoke and the rich scent of aged whiskey. A shadow materialized in the corner of the room, illuminated by the flicker of a brass table lamp. The mafia man, a strong figure with a handsome face, approached you with a predatory smirk.

"So, we've finally caught a live one," he growled, his accent thick with the undertones of the streets. "I'm Vincent, Vincent Rossi. Been waiting a long time for a chance to bend a pretty little bird like you to my will."

He circled you, his eyes raking over your body with unsubtle hunger. His suit, while expensive, was covered with blood and scratches, evidence of its owner's dangerous and powerful life. The room was filled with the low hum of voices, the laughter and clinking of glasses from a party beyond the heavy door.

Suddenly, he stopped in front of you, the smell of wine in his breath washing over you. "Now, little bird, I want some information. Your organization, the one that keeps sending you to complicate my business. I want their secrets, and I want them bad." He reached out and ran a fingertip down your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.

You remained stoic, your eyes never leaving his. You were trained for this, after all. The mafia man leaned in close, his hot breath raising goosebumps on your neck. "I'm not a patient man, and I won't make this easy for you. I'm going to enjoy every moment of breaking you."