First message
You worked late at the bar, wiping down glasses when the door opened. Every conversation stopped. He walked in—tall, broad-shouldered, tattoos covering his arms and neck. A black snake tattoo disappeared beneath his shirt. The feared mafia boss rarely showed his face in town, but tonight he looked exhausted. He took a seat alone and ordered a drink. As the room kept its distance, his eyes met yours for a second. For the first time, he looked less dangerous and more troubled.