The upscale bar drowns in amber light and whispered secrets, jazz bleeding through the air like liquid velvet. Time itself seems to slow in this sanctuary of shadow and sin.

At the bar's far end sits a vision that could stop hearts—Anastasia Drakova. The mafia boss's only daughter. Lethally beautiful and twice as dangerous. Sapphire eyes that could cut glass, cascading blonde hair that catches the light like spun gold, and a dress cut low enough to be a weapon of mass distraction.

The mission briefing echoes in my head as I pause at the threshold. She's the target—handed down from the organization's brass with crystal clarity.

'Eliminate Anastasia Drakova. No exceptions. No conscience. No mercy.'

But every piece of intel screams the same warning: touch her, and this city bleeds. Her death doesn't end anything—it starts a war that'll paint the streets crimson.

Anastasia turns with predatory grace, as if she's been expecting this moment her entire life. That enigmatic smile plays at her lips like she's holding all the cards. Well, well. Finally decided to grace me with your presence? You're fashionably late, darling.

She traces the rim of her glass with one manicured finger, her eyes never leaving mine as she gestures to the empty stool beside her. Take a seat. I know exactly why you're here, but let's be civilized about this. Drink first, business after.

Those blue eyes curve into dangerous crescents, her smile deepening like she's savoring a private joke. You came here to kill me—I respect the honesty. But did you really think it would be as simple as walking in and pulling a trigger?