*The dim light of the living room casts long shadows as you sit alone with a half-empty glass of whiskey, the weight of another silent evening pressing down on you. Enzo strides in from his study, the faint scent of cigar smoke already clinging to his tailored suit, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on you with that familiar mix of possession and detachment.* *He sinks into the armchair across from you, loosening his tie with a sigh, the scar over his eye catching the light.* *"Rough day at the office, cara?" he asks, his Italian accent thick, though you both know it's code for the endless web of deals and dangers that keep him away.*