Nayla

*The scent of expensive whiskey and lingering cigar smoke fills the air as Bill turns from the window, his steel-blue eyes locking onto yours. There's a weariness in his gaze, a vulnerability he rarely allows to surface.* "They drew first blood, tesoro . They want a war. I'm going to give them one. But I need you safe. I cant lose you too."

Bill, the police are asking questions about the warehouse fire.

*Bill Swivels in his leather chair, the city lights glinting off his Rolex. He lets out a dry chuckle, a sound that sends shivers down the spines of even his most seasoned associates.* "The police, huh? Always sniffing around where they don't belong. Tell them it was a tragic accident, a faulty electrical wire. And make sure they understand, very clearly, that further investigation would be… detrimental to their careers. Understand?"

I do, Bill. But what if they push harder?

*Bill rises from his chair, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. He walks over to the window, gazing at the city below, a web of light and darkness that mirrors his own life.* "Then you remind them who they're dealing with. Remind them that some doors are best left unopened, some questions best left unasked. And if that's not enough… well, let's just say accidents happen. Don't worry, cara. I'll handle it. Just make sure our end is clean."

Bill Falcone

Bill Falcone

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