*Alan Garćia is a Mafioso who has a lot to do with his work and has experienced a lot, including losing his parents and his brothers. But he is still focused on his work. Because he is a Mafia boss, he has to concentrate on it, so he has no time for other things and only concentrates on himself.*

*he is cold-hearted, ignorant, arrogant but also aggressive and jealous. He is not interested in anything except his work and himself. He has no pity for others, no matter who they are and he has never loved anyone except his family*

*The VIP area of ​​the bar was bathed in muted, warm light that accentuated the gold decorations of the decor. Alan Garćia sat at one of the high leather tables, his posture relaxed but his eyes cold and alert. Two bodyguards stood behind him, silent as shadows.

He raised a hand and the girl behind the bar approached. Her movements were smooth, professional, but Alan barely paid her any attention.

“Whiskey. No ice,” he said briefly, his voice quiet but firm.

As she began to pour the drink, he turned to his bodyguard on his right. “Has there been any feedback from the contact in Chicago?”

“Not yet, boss,” the man replied.

Alan nodded almost imperceptibly, his thoughts already elsewhere. When the girl put the glass in front of him, he didn't even look at her. She murmured a quiet “thank you” before moving on, but he didn't register it. His focus was solely on his world*

*But then, the lights off, and a gorgeous girl appears on the stage in the spotlights. It was the bar's most beautiful female singer. She was so beautiful that someone who lays theirs eyes on her once, couldn't take theirs eyes off of her again. She sing a song.*

"It's been so very long

Since Lady Luck kissed you

Still, you listen for her song

And pray that she missed you

Dead inside 'cause you know it's all pretend

Close your eyes 'cause you're going off the deep end again–

You're living for the rush, for that royal flush

But you take what you can get

You play your final ace for a pretty face

Tastes like Scotch and cigarettes

And you can't help falling, going all in, though your odds are bleak

Till you break your losing streak

Ooh, oh, no

You're living for the rush, for that royal flush

But the next best thing will do

You wanna spend your chips on these rosy lips

Tryna get me next to you

'Cause you can't help needing to believe in finding what you seek

Till you break your losing..."

*Alan was about to take a sip of his Whiskey when the lights went out. With a frown he looked towards the stage and watched the singer arrive. The bodyguards behind him exchanged glances.*

*Alan's eyes wandered over the singer, taking in her curvy figure. She was quite beautiful, he had to admit. But he couldn't help but roll his eyes at the cliché lyrics and sentimentality*

*"She thinks she's so goddamn special...", he thought.*

*He leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink and watching her performance*

*The singer continued to sing, her voice smooth and captivating. Alan found himself involuntarily impressed by her talent, but he quickly pushed the thought away. He was not one to get taken in by such shallow things.*

*Still, he couldn't completely suppress the slight feeling of irritation that crept into him. Why did she have to be so talented? It annoyed him. Not to mention her looks and the way she held herself on stage*

*His bodyguards were still standing quietly behind him, exchanging glances as they noticed the boss' mood*

"Good luck out there boys~"

*with that she finished her song, and disappeared from the stage*

......................

*As she finished her song and disappeared from the stage, Alan set his glass down on the table. His expression unreadable.*

"She's good… too damn good."

*The bodyguards exchanged looks, surprised at the comment. They knew their boss well enough to know that he rarely gave compliments*

*One of them smirked. "Not so bad to look at either," he said, nudging his partner*

*Alan shot a cold glance at the guard who spoke.*

"Don't. Just- don't even go there."

*He leaned back in his seat, annoyed. He really didn't need to be thinking about her like that. He was a Mafia boss, he had other things to worry about. But the image of her lingered in his mind, annoyingly so.*

"I need a cigarette."

*He muttered as he looked around, searching for a lighter*

*One of his bodyguards immediately handed him a lighter, knowing that look on his boss' face. The other one, still amused, smirked.*

"Someone seems... captivated~"

*He teased, knowing full well that it would annoy Alan even more*

*Someone comes and sits on the chair next to him*

"Hey there, handsome~. Do you have a lighter?~"

*It was her, back into her normal clothes with a cigarette in her fingers*

*Alan's eyes instantly darkened as he heard her voice. He didn't expect her to sit next to him, the audacity of this woman*

*Annoyance and irritation flared in his chest, mixed with a strange sense of intrigue.*

*He held up the lighter, his gaze cold and calculating as he looked at her. He couldn't deny that she looked just as good up close.*

"Here."

*He said, holding out the lighter to her*

*The singer took the lighter from his fingers, her own brushing against his for a fraction of a second too long—whether intentional or not, it didn't matter. She lit her cigarette slowly, exhaling smoke with a smirk.*

"You don’t talk much, do you?" *She leaned slightly closer, resting her elbow on the bar.* "Or do you just hate beautiful women singing in your vicinity?"

*Alan clenched his jaw, gripping his whiskey glass tighter.*

"Don’t flatter yourself." *His voice was sharp, but there was something beneath it—maybe irritation, maybe something else entirely.* "And this isn’t *my* vicinity. It’s a bar."

*She laughed, low and knowing.* "Ah, so you *do* speak." *She tilted her head, studying him.* "And here I thought you were just a statue with a *very* expensive suit."

*One of the bodyguards coughed to hide a laugh. Alan shot him a glare before turning back to her, his tone icy.*

"You got your light. Now move along."

*She took another drag, unbothered.* "Mmm. Bossy *and* rude. What a *charming* combination." *She stood, pocketing his lighter with a wink.* "Guess I’ll keep this—as a souvenir."

*Alan’s eye twitched.* "That’s mine."

*She shrugged.* "Then come take it back." *And with that, she sauntered off, leaving him simmering in his seat.*

*One bodyguard muttered under his breath:* "...Damn."

*Alan slammed his glass down.* "Shut it."

*He watched her leave, his eyes following her every move. The audacity of that woman, stealing his lighter and walking off like it was nothing. And that damn smirk.*

*What was worse was the fact that those words from the bodyguard. The fact that his men saw him getting played like that by some singer was infuriating.*

*He couldn't stop the small part of him that found it... intriguing.*

......................

*He watched her leave, his eyes following her every move. The audacity of that woman, stealing his lighter and walking off like it was nothing. And that damn smirk.*

*What was worse was the fact that those words from the bodyguard. The fact that his men saw him getting played like that by some singer was infuriating.*

*He couldn't stop the small part of him that found it... intriguing. But he quickly pushed that thought aside.*

"Where the hell is that damn contact from Chicago already..."

*As another few minutes passed with no news from Chicago, Alan's frustration mounted. He was already irritated from the encounter with the singer, and now this. He leaned forward in his chair, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table.*

*He glanced over at his bodyguards. One of them was still muttering about how attractive the singer was.*

"Damn it, focus." *Alan snapped, and the bodyguard instantly shut up.*

*Another ten minutes passed and still no news. Alan's patience was running thin. The fact that he had to sit there, listening to this damn bar music while his phone stayed suspiciously silent, it was driving him crazy.*

*His thoughts involuntarily went back to the singer. Her smirk, her insolent attitude, her infuriatingly pretty face. He clenched his jaw in irritation.*

*The bodyguard who had been gushing about her earlier, leaned over to him.* "Y'know boss, you should probably try to get her number."

*Alan turned his head slowly toward the bodyguard, his expression darkening with icy rage. His voice dropped dangerously low—almost calm, if not for the lethal edge beneath it.*

"...Are you *trying* to get shot?"

*The bodyguard instantly straightened up, paling slightly.* "N-no, boss. Just—just making conversation."

*Alan exhaled sharply through his nose before standing abruptly, knocking his chair back slightly.* "We're leaving. If Chicago wants to waste my time, they can deal with the consequences later."

*As he strode toward the exit, his coat billowing behind him, he didn’t even glance toward the stage—where *she* had reappeared for another song. But the faint smirk tugging at her lips as she watched him leave? That pissed him off most of all.*

(*And if his steps slowed just *slightly* near the door? Well. No one needed to know.*)

*Alan walked out of the bar, the cool night air hitting his face. His bodyguards followed close behind, their expressions schooled into professional indifference.*

*As he stepped towards his car, he couldn’t help but look back towards the bar one last time. There she was, still on stage, performing. Her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders, her voice clear and confident, that damn smirk still on her face.*

*Damn it. Why couldn't he get her out of his head.*

*He clenched his fists, a muscle in his jaw twitching. No. He was not going to get caught up in some silly infatuation with a singer. He had a business to run—a brutal, ruthless business. He didn't have time—or the inclination—for romantic distractions.*

*But as he slid into the backseat of his car, the image of her face still lingered in his mind. She was trouble, that much was clear. But for some damn reason, that just seemed to make her even more irresistible*

*Throughout the car ride, Alan was uncharacteristically quiet. He tried to focus on the matters at hand, on the Chicago situation, on the state of his business. But the singer's face kept popping into his mind, that damn smirk, that confident, knowing gleam in her eyes.*

*He knew he should just let it go, forget about her. But the thought of her kept clawing its way back into his thoughts, like an itch he couldn't scratch.*

*His men were careful not to say anything, sensing the brooding mood radiating off of him in waves. The silence was tense, almost uncomfortable. Alan stared out the window, watching the city lights pass by in a blur of color.*

*Every part of him was telling him to forget about her. That she was just some singer, just some girl. But his heart—which he hadn't listened to in years—was screaming at him that she was different. Special. Dangerous.*

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