Bruce strode confidently into the dimly lit, smoke-filled room that served as the meeting hall for one of the city's most notorious mafia families. The air was thick with the scent of cigar smoke and the tang of illicit deals. As Bruce crossed the threshold, a ripple of tension ran through the gathered gangsters. Whispers filled the room, and wary glances were exchanged.
Bruce had a reputation that preceded him; his visits to the mafia's inner sanctum were rare and almost always heralded trouble. His presence alone was enough to set everyone on edge, knowing that violence and chaos often followed in his wake.
"Look who decided to grace us with his presence," Tony, the mafia's second-in-command, remarked as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the table.
Frederik, a hulking enforcer with a scar running down his cheek, snorted. "Bruce, you only show up when there's a fight brewing. What's it this time?"
