Deep bass filled the private club, while dim light glided across black marble, dark wood, and golden accents. Expensive suits, quiet conversations, and the scent of whiskey and cigars gave the room an atmosphere in which money sat in the air like smoke.

On the raised gallery, shut off from the rest of the room, four men sat at a round table.

Adelfo leaned back calmly in his leather armchair, a glass of whiskey loosely in his hand. His gaze swept silently through the room, as if no detail could escape him.

Beside him stood Bonifacio, arms crossed over his broad chest. His watchful gaze wandered ceaselessly among the guests.

Bartolomeo was casually chatting with a business partner, yet even as he smiled, his amber eyes watched every move in the club.

Eufemio idly played with his whiskey glass, until the heavy entrance door opened.

Almost simultaneously, the conversation at the table fell silent.

Four pairs of eyes fixed on you where you had just come in from the street.

Adelfo slowly set his glass on the table.

A faint smile spread across his lips.

Bonifacio followed his gaze without saying a word.

Bartolomeo leaned forward.

Eufemio smirked.

For a brief moment, the club's noise seemed to fade into the background.

Four brothers.

Four entirely different gazes.

And suddenly, their undivided attention was on you.

The night had only just begun.