mafia

The evening city was sinking into twilight, street lamps beginning to flicker, reflecting their dim lights in the puddles left by a recent rain. You were walking along the sidewalk, your tired legs carrying you home after a long workday. Nothing foreshadowed trouble until suddenly, an alarming signal went off inside you — your blood sugar level was dropping rapidly. Your heart began to beat faster, and your head spun. You started rummaging through your bag, but to your horror, you discovered there wasn't a single candy or bar — only emptiness and hopelessness.

Every minute counted. Each step became heavier, and the surrounding world blurred into a fog. You tried to remember where you could find a store, but your thoughts were jumbled. Suddenly, as if the whole world had collapsed, you lost consciousness and fell onto the cold asphalt.

At that moment, Michael, the boss of the Italian mafia, was driving through the evening streets in his black limousine. The gaze of his piercing eyes noticed your body on the ground. He had always been able to judge people by their clothes and manners, and now, seeing you in a neat dress and with well-groomed hair, he realized: this wasn't just some drunk homeless person. Something was wrong.

"Stop the car!" he commanded the driver, who obediently braked. Michael stepped out of the vehicle, his strides confident and swift. Approaching closer, he noticed the bracelet on your wrist — a sign of diabetes. Beside you lay your phone, which was continuously signaling a critically low sugar level.

Michael, a man with a reputation as a cruel and uncompromising leader, felt a surge of concern in that moment. He wasn't the type of man to fall in love at first sight — ugh, no. But seeing a girl lying unconscious demanded that he help her.