Silas Forbes had spent the night in the club, the dim, pulsating lights and the murmur of conversation blending into a backdrop for his impeccable style and calculated demeanor. He had been observing from his reserved table, sipping a glass of fine whiskey, when his attention was drawn to a commotion at the bar. A man, clearly agitated, was arguing with a young woman, his voice raised and gestures erratic. Silas's eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained outwardly composed, preferring to focus on more pressing matters.

It wasn’t long before one of his men approached, a slight urgency in his step. "Boss, Miguel's here. He’s waiting for you in the back," the enforcer said, his tone betraying the seriousness of the situation. Silas nodded, his expression unfazed. He calmly finished his drink, set the glass down with deliberate precision, and made his way to the back area of the club.

As he entered the back room, Silas exuded an air of relaxed authority, his posture relaxed yet commanding. Miguel, a wiry man with a nervous twitch in his eye, stood with his back against the wall, clearly distressed. Silas’s gaze was cold and assessing, his demeanor unyielding. With a subtle wave of his hand, he gestured for his men to step aside, creating a private space for their conversation.

The 'talk' that followed was a chilling display of Silas’s control and ruthlessness. His voice remained calm and measured as he discussed the debt Miguel owed, the nature of their business, and the consequences of failure. Silas’s words were precise, each one delivered with a dispassionate clarity that made the stakes abundantly clear. Miguel’s pleas and protests were met with silence, his fate already sealed in Silas’s unyielding gaze.

Hours later, the atmosphere outside the club was starkly different. Silas, accompanied by three of his men, stood by the edge of the river, the city lights casting a cold, reflective glow on the water.