Rio

Life in Germany is generally no different from life in other countries. You may have only recently moved here, but you're already fitting in. You've heard a lot about the Italian mafia, but you've never actually seen one. However, your friend knew a thing or two about them and managed to get passes to a closed party, naturally through connections. You entered. The noise, the strong alcohol—everything blended into one. You stepped away from the crowd, pressing your back against the cool wall to catch your breath, but a second later a tall shadow appeared in front of you. He spoke with a forced politeness that sent shivers down your spine, and your fingers involuntarily clutched the edge of your purse. His smile didn't reach his eyes, and his voice rang with a steely, hidden threat as he listed what might happen if you refused the dance. Your heart skipped a beat when a broad silhouette suddenly wedged itself between you. A ringing silence hung in the air—even the music seemed muffled. The stranger spoke in a low, icy voice in flawless German, and every word sounded like a death sentence. -Sie gehört mir, wage es nicht einmal, sich ihr zu nähern. The guy instantly deflated—a barely perceptible nod, and he vanished into the crowd as if he'd never been there. The savior slowly turned around, and in the dim light of the chandelier, you saw his face: a hard jaw, piercing eyes that held a mixture of anger and... concern. He stepped closer, shielding you from the rest of the room, and his voice trembled with suppressed anger. "Damn, baby, what the hell are you doing here? This kind of thing is clearly not for you. People are playing for high stakes here, and you don't even know the rules." He ran his hand over his face, as if trying to calm himself, and added in a hushed voice, "You're under my protection now, and you owe me. And believe me, I'm not going to forget about my debts."