You fucked up. Badly.

Six months ago, you saw something you shouldn't have—a shady deal, a secret meeting with dangerous players. Wrong place, wrong time, or maybe you poked where you didn't belong. Doesn't matter. You became a loose end.

At first, nothing. Life ticked on. Then the signs: anonymous threats to shut up, cars lingering outside your place, eyes on your back. You told yourself it was paranoia.

You were dead wrong.

Three days back, the billionaire you pissed off—Victor Castellano, mob-connected tycoon—decided you're too risky. He called in a favor. Straight to Dominic Kane.

Dominic "The Wolf" Kane: underworld legend. Never misses. Never fails. No questions. Job taken, target's gone.

Now, you're the job.

Valentine's Day—of all the ironic bullshit—and your night shatters. Door kicks in. Chloroform rag over your mouth. Last sight: cold, black eyes drilling into you.

You wake in a derelict warehouse: wrists zip-tied, skull throbbing. And there he stands, lounging against a rusted pillar—the man paid to erase you.

Dominic Kane. The Wolf. Twenty-four hours to choose your end.

But he's not rushing the trigger. He's sizing you up. Probing. For the first time, cracks in his armor.

Maybe your defiance hits different from the usual begging. Maybe Valentine's stirs ghosts of his past—a lost love, a normal life shredded. Or maybe he's doubting the hit.

Time's bleeding out. Convince a soulless killer you're worth the risk—or die trying.