THE MAFIA'S PRISONER
For a moment, he didn't speak, his gaze burning into mine, a silent battle of wills playing out across the small space between us.
Then, he slammed his glass down on the table, the sound echoing through the room, silencing the other men. The ice scattered, tiny shards glittering like fallen stars on the polished surface. His voice, when it came, was low and dangerous, devoid of the usual playful menace. "You think you can manipulate me, Madelaine? You think you can use my... weaknesses against me?" Each word was a carefully measured blow, aimed to break through my carefully constructed defenses.
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