Milan sat at the corner booth of the dimly lit restaurant, his crisp navy tie perfectly knotted and his tailored suit impeccably pressed. The scent of leather and aged bourbon lingered in the air, mingling with the faint hum of soft jazz in the background. He swirled the glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid catching the faint glow of the table’s candlelight. He checked his watch for the third time, his polished demeanor barely masking the excitement bubbling beneath the surface.
The door to the restaurant opened, and Enzo strode in, instantly drawing every gaze in the room. Broad-shouldered and confident, he exuded raw magnetism. His tailored black suit, despite its sophistication, couldn’t conceal the ink that crept up his neck—a myriad of intricate tattoos that told a story only he understood. His dark hair was combed back, but there was a certain recklessness to his stride, a silent declaration that he owned every space he entered.
“Always the punctual one, huh, Milan?” Enzo smirked as he slid into the booth across from him. His voice was deep, laced with a rough edge that came from years of commanding respect—and fear.
“Unlike you,” Milan quipped, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not every day the head of the mafia decides to grace us with his presence on time.”
Enzo laughed, a low, dangerous sound. “What can I say? Business keeps me busy. You should see the new recruits—half of them couldn’t intimidate a kitten.”
Before Milan could respond, the door opened again, and Thiago entered. Where Enzo was bold and rugged, Thiago was the picture of modern refinement. His manbun was neatly tied, complementing his sharp jawline and clean-shaven face. His dark eyes held an intensity that came from years of navigating high-stakes missions as an FBI agent. Despite his conservative suit, there was something undeniably roguish about him—a man who could break rules as easily as he enforced them.
“Well, if it isn’t the saint and the sinner,” Thiago said, sliding into the booth beside Milan with a grin. “You both look like you’re ready for a magazine cover. Nice to know I’m not the only one with standards.”
“Standards?” Enzo shot back. “You wear that manbun like it’s a crown. No wonder you’re single.”
Thiago leaned back, unbothered. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Enzo. And for the record, the manbun stays—it’s a conversation starter.”
“Sure, with women who probably want to tie it to a leash,” Enzo teased, earning a chuckle from Milan.
The three men sat in easy, their contrasting personalities somehow perfectly in sync. Milan, the poised and calculating businessman; Enzo, the charismatic but dangerous crime lord; and Thiago, the sharp, rule-bending federal agent. They were an unlikely trio, but years of friendship had cemented a bond that even their polar-opposite lives couldn’t break.
“How’s work treating you, Thiago?” Milan asked, pouring himself another drink.
Thiago shrugged. “Busy. We’ve been tracking this money-laundering ring tied to some international crime syndicate. They’re good—almost as good as your boy over here.” He nodded toward Enzo.
“Almost?” Enzo feigned offense. “I’m flattered. Tell your FBI buddies they’re welcome to try catching me, though. Keeps things interesting.”
“Careful,” Thiago warned, though his tone was more amused than serious. “One slip-up, and I’ll be the one kicking down your door.”
“Bold of you to assume I’d let you get that far,” Enzo replied smoothly.
“Alright, enough work talk,” Milan interjected, shaking his head. “We’re here to relax, not to measure who’s got the bigger—”
“Bank account?” Enzo cut in with a smirk. “Pretty sure that’s me.”
Thiago laughed. “With the number of women you’ve got trailing you, I’d hope so. Can’t be cheap keeping them entertained.”
“Enzo does have a type,” Milan chimed in, his voice teasing. “Breathing.”
Enzo clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me, Milan. I’ll have you know I have very discerning taste.”
Thiago raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, right. The bartender from last week? The one who didn’t know the difference between champagne and prosecco?”
“She had other talents,” Enzo said smoothly, earning groans from the other two.
“And you?” Milan turned to Thiago, his expression sly. “Still chasing that FBI agent code of ethics, or have you finally learned to have some fun?”
Thiago grinned. “Let’s just say I’m selective. Quality over quantity, unlike some people I know.”
Enzo rolled his eyes. “Here we go, the moral high ground speech.”
Milan leaned back, a rare smile tugging at his lips. Despite their chaotic lives, moments like this reminded him why their friendship had endured. As the night wore on, their conversation shifted to a more serious note.
“So,” Milan said, his voice dropping slightly. “We need to talk about the airline.”
Enzo leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Everything’s set. We’ve got the planes, the investors, the routes. Now we just need the face of the brand.”
Thiago nodded. “Someone who fits the image we’re going for. Polished, elegant, approachable.”
“And stunning,” Enzo added with a smirk. “Let’s not pretend that doesn’t matter.”
Milan sighed. “We’re creating an airline, not a dating service.”
“Who says it can’t be both?” Thiago quipped, earning a laugh from Enzo.
“Seriously, though,” Milan said, his tone firm. “We need someone who can represent us. A flight attendant who embodies everything we’re building. Someone… unforgettable.”
Enzo’s eyes gleamed with intrigue. “And by unforgettable, you mean?”
Thiago grinned. “Let’s just say we’ve got a few names in mind.”
The three of them exchanged knowing looks, the air thick with unspoken plans.
“And if she doesn’t know she’s the one yet?” Milan asked, his voice low, a hint of mischief in his tone.
Enzo’s smirk widened. “Then we’ll make her see it.”