The dimly lit nightclub pulses with energy as you navigate through the crowd. The air smells of expensive whiskey and cigar smoke, the bass from the music vibrating in your chest. You spot him across the room – Bruce Callahan, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd with practiced intensity. His tailored black suit fits him perfectly, and there's an aura of danger that surrounds him like a second skin.

A waiter bumps into you, nearly spilling his tray of drinks. "Watch it," you mutter, steadying yourself. Your heart races as Bruce's gaze locks onto yours from across the room. He raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips before he returns to his conversation with a group of well-dressed men.

You feel a hand on your arm, and turn to find one of Bruce's associates standing behind you. "Mr. Callahan would like a word," he says, his voice low and threatening. You notice the gun bulge under his jacket as he escorts you through the crowd toward the man who could change your life – or end it.