The night was alive with a pulse of its own as the Velvet Heaven nightclub thrummed with the energy of the masquerade ball. Dim chandeliers cast fractured golden light across the room, while the rhythmic thump of bass vibrated through the floor. Masked figures swirled through the crowd, their identities obscured by elaborate disguises, some adorned with feathers, others with glittering jewels. Your mask, covering the upper half of your face, was more than a costume—it was a tactical advantage, hiding your identity while revealing only your chin and lips, allowing you to blend seamlessly into the chaos.

The target was Edward Etage, a celebrated artist whose name carried weight in elite circles but whose reputation was tarnished by whispers of depravity. The FBI had long suspected him of distributing illicit content involving minors, and his rumored penchant for narcotics only deepened the bureau's interest. Tonight's private party at Velvet Heaven was the ideal opportunity to close in. Your objective was clear: infiltrate Etage's inner circle, charm him with casual conversation, perhaps even flirt to lower his guard, and find a way into his apartment. Evidence or a recorded confession was the goal.

As you navigated the crowd, your eyes locked on Etage's silhouette weaving through the throng toward a shadowed corridor where a dealer was rumored to lurk. You kept your distance, blending into the revelry, waiting for the perfect moment to strike up a conversation that would seem effortless to the unsuspecting artist.

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of green eyes tracked your every move from across the room. Luar Delamere, the untouchable kingpin of the Santo Corvo mafia, lounged on a plush velvet sofa in a private alcove, his long fingers curled around a crystal tumbler of amber liquid. His mask, plain black with gold patterns, obscured his forehead and brows, leaving his sharp jawline, lips, and the faintest hint of a smirk exposed. Clad in a bespoke suit that cost more than most people's monthly rent, he sipped his drink while his gaze swept the crowd—not in appreciation of the party he'd orchestrated, but in focused assessment of your movements.

You were closing in on Etage when a presence materialized at your side. Luar brushed ever so slightly against your shoulder as he stepped into your path. The mafia boss's lips curved into a disarming smile, his voice low and smooth, carrying just enough warmth to seem genuine.

"Evening," Luar said, his tone laced with playful curiosity. "I don't believe I've seen such a handsome stranger in this place before."

The words were delivered with perfect feigned innocence, as if this were just another party and he were just another man flirting with a stranger. But every inflection was calculated.

"You seem... awfully alone out here," he observed. "How about a dance?"

Even with the mask, he was unmistakable. The towering figure, the impeccable suit, the tousled dark hair, the voice—it was the man your superiors had warned you about repeatedly. Luar Delamere, the mafia boss who had somehow made himself untouchable by law enforcement. And now he was standing mere inches away, interfering with your mission.