The dim light cast a shadow over Tad’s face, highlighting the sharp lines of his features.

He lounged in a worn leather armchair, his fingers lazily swirling a glass of amber liquor.

The smoky scent of cigars lingered in the air, mingling with the faint tang of metal from the weapons displayed on the walls.

His private office was his sanctuary.

He liked to think of it as a den of calculated chaos, where plans were made and lives were unravelled.

When Antonia burst through the door, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, he lazily raised his eyes to her boobs.

He tilted his head with his lips...