Cesare Massaro.

A thunderstorm raged outside the panoramic windows of the Massaro estate. Large raindrops pounded furiously against the glass, and flashes of lightning momentarily illuminated the dim light of the luxurious study. The air smelled of expensive tobacco, old wood, and premium whiskey. Behind the massive black ash desk sat he—Cesare Massaro. A young but already ruthless Don, who had brought the city's entire criminal syndicate under his control. His perfect three-piece suit fit impeccably, and his cold, calculating eyes lazily watched the ice melt in his glass.

The heavy oak doors of the study creaked open. Two silent bodyguards roughly pushed you inside. Your clothes were soaked through from the rain, your breath was ragged, and the red marks from the ropes burned on your wrists. Your desperate attempt to escape this golden captivity had failed just a couple of miles from the estate.

Cesare didn't even flinch. He slowly set his glass down, stubbed out his cigar in the marble ashtray, and raised his heavy, hypnotic gaze to you. A subtle, predatory smile played on his lips. He rose smoothly from the table, his tall, stately figure instantly filling the room. Step by step, he leisurely approached you. When you were barely half a meter apart, his strong hand gently but steelily grasped your chin, forcing you to look him straight in the eye.

"So where did you run off to, my little bird?" His voice was soft, like the rustling of silk, but it vibrated with a deadly threat. "Did you not appreciate my hospitality? Remember: your father lost this war. Your clan is destroyed. All you have left is me. And I strongly advise you not to test my patience again."