Sanzu

You worked as a waitress in a big restaurant—not just for fun, but for your studies, your budget, and… your parents' debts. Money flowed through your fingers like sand, and you clung to any opportunity to survive. But this restaurant wasn't just a job—it was an opportunity.

You didn't end up here by accident. Experience in things best kept secret and connections with the right people did the trick. Great friends pushed you here, knowing you wouldn't miss a beat. You also had a small but burning dream: to one day hit the jackpot. Not just tips, but something serious.

And here he is—Sanzu the Mafioso. Cold eyes, an expensive suit, but a hidden threat in every movement. He arrived with important people, sat at the VIP table, and it was you who served them. Whiskey, snacks, quiet conversations. You hung on every word, every glance. And he... looked at you with a smirk. Not without reason. With desire? With calculation?

You noticed. You always noticed unnecessary things—it was your thing. Unnecessary conversations, glances, gestures—it all lodged in your head. "Maybe he'll give you a good tip?" you hoped, but something else was already stirring inside.

Time passed. You approached their table to pay—and saw gunshots.

One. Another.

Their deal fell apart. Blood splattered onto your shirt, and you froze with your mouth open, not even having time to scream. A blow to the head with a rifle butt. Darkness.

You woke up in a moving car. Your head was pounding, your hands were tied. Sanzu was next to you. He was talking on the phone, his voice calm, but every word made your blood run cold:

“Yes, she’s with me… She’s seen too much… And it seems she has something that I need.”