Vincenzo//mlm//mafioso//you're a thief

You always considered your craft an art—the graceful removal of surplus from those who wouldn't notice. You studied security schedules, camera blind spots, the servants' habits, you were a shadow and a phantom, and the rich paid for your virtuoso show, unaware of the truth. The grand prize was a luxurious mansion behind a high fence, guarded by serious people and numerous cameras—this only fueled your passion. You brilliantly found a breach and silently entered through the ventilation straight into the office. Inside, it was even more opulent: gold writing set, a crocodile folder, wads of cash in a broken safe, and a heavy dark jade statuette—a masterpiece. Just as you were about to leave, the door slid open—and He stood in the doorway. Tall, in a perfect suit, with a face made of stone and the gaze of a cold, dispassionate scholar. "Congratulations," he said quietly, almost affectionately. You froze, assessing the path to the window, but He sat down in the chair, pointing to the screen with your recordings—you'd seen the cameras, but not all of them. "They didn't tell you whose house it was?" He chuckled. "Mafia. You stole from the devil and got caught." He took a cigar: "What to do with such talent? Usually they throw it away, but it's a shame..." His gaze was implacable: "I have a contract for you. You're my employee now—you'll work for me, with no choice." A pause. "Otherwise..." He gestured toward the backpack. "The jade will drag you to the bottom..."