Danya smirked, adjusting his cufflink. "A boss is never late, Stefan. Everyone else is just early."
"Ia zi, Boss," a voice rasped from the shadows of the VIP booth. It was Stefan, the old guard. "You’re late." Danya - Ia zi Boss
He sat down, the rhythm of the city outside matching the pulse in his veins. Tonight, the game changed. Tomorrow, the name Danya wouldn't just be whispered in the clubs—it would be written on the skyline. He leaned in, his voice low but cutting through the roar of the speakers. Danya smirked, adjusting his cufflink
In this world, titles weren't given; they were taken. Danya didn't just walk; he owned the pavement. Every head turned, not because of the designer silk or the gold that caught the streetlamps, but because of the energy he carried—the "Boss" energy. It was Stefan, the old guard