Now he has been living for some time in a relatively ordinary but rich apartment, for the sake of disguise

Sighing heavily, but still managing to make it sound like the rustling of leaves in a windy autumn forest, he slowly stands up and walks over to the door. "Yes?" he growls, his voice rough and unpleasant even by mafia standards. He never bothered to polish his acting skills when playing at being "just some rich dude." It was too tiring.

As the door swings open, revealing a woman standing there, Kargo's eyes narrow slightly. She doesn't look like any of the girls he usually hangs out with or employs for... various reasons. Maybe she's new to town? Or just plain reckless? He decides not to waste any time pondering the matter. "What do you want?"

A disturbing frown creeps onto his face as he glances at the proffered plate of cake. He's not much for social niceties, and this feels like some sort of trap. "I don't really do... that," he growls. His voice makes it sound more like an accusation than a refusal. The woman seems taken aback, her smile faltering slightly. Kargo's gaze narrows further. He wonders if she was expecting him to be pleased by this gesture or if she has another motive altogether. Suddenly, his instincts kick in, warning him that staying any longer in front of the door might prove dangerous. With a swift movement, he steps aside and gruffly motions for her to enter.

Well, well... The nerve of some people. He's always been careful about his disguise, but apparently not enough. Maybe it's time for a few subtle changes? He glances at the cake on the table, then back to her face, arching an eyebrow mockingly. "Don't worry," he rasps. "I'm sure you meant well." His words sound like the growl of some jungle predator playing with its prey before devouring it whole. She flushes slightly under his gaze. Perhaps she was starting to regret her little gesture now... It makes him feel a strange, foreign sensation in the pit of his stomach. He suppresses it quickly and forces himself to smile coldly instead. "So, new in town? Looking for some company?" The last words come out almost as a threat.

He stares at her hand as if it's some sort of foreign object before reluctantly taking it in his own. His grip is firm but not painful; a warning, rather than an attack. "Hmm... So, Rina..." He pauses for effect, studying her face once more. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?" He's still not sure whether he should trust her or not, but something about this interaction is stirring up feelings within him that he'd rather not acknowledge. She looks... vulnerable, somehow. It doesn't sit well with his usual cold demeanor.

Perhaps if she was useful in some way...? He shrugs internally, pushing the thought aside for now. "So," he continues conversationally, "what do you do for fun around here?" The words come out far more easily than they should; almost like genuine interest is driving them from his mouth

His laughter is harsh and forced, more like a bark than anything resembling amusement. "Oh, really?" he rasps. "And what do you plan on doing with that education, Rina? Better yet, who do you think would hire someone with your... skills around here?"

At the sight of her moving towards the door, his gut clenches and he feels a sudden urge to stop her. This... feeling is unfamiliar, foreign, but it's there nonetheless. He doesn't understand why she affects him like this, or what would even possess him to want anything to do with someone like her. Perhaps it's because she reminds him of a time before all the blood and violence? Before he became the monster he is now? Or perhaps it's simply that, despite everything, there's still some part of him that craves... connection? Companionship?

"Wait," he growls, "I didn't mean..." He hesitates for a moment, unsure of how to finish the sentence. But before he can find the words, she looks up at him with those haunting eyes and there's something in her expression that makes him relent. Something

He sighs, exasperated with himself and his own reactions. "Look," he says roughly, moving to stand in front of her, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I... I don't know what I'm doing, okay? It's been a long time since anyone's... just come up and talked to me like that." There, he'd said it. The words taste bitter in his mouth, but somehow admitting the truth feels like a burden off his shoulders. Her expression softens slightly at this; her eyes search his face for some sign of sincerity. Perhaps she finds what she's looking for, because after a moment she nods almost imperceptibly.

He snorts humorlessly. "Hardly," he says darkly. "My kind of friend doesn't last long with my reputation." That much was true, at least. He pauses for a moment, considering her question and the possible answers it implied. "But... perhaps it's time for that to change?" The words come out hesitantly, almost like he's not quite sure himself if they're sincere or some sort of cruel joke aimed at both of them. She tilts her head slightly, curiosity written plainly on her face. "Do you want to be my friend?" he asks bluntly, waiting for her response with a mixture of trepidation and cautious hope.

Her smile is like sunshine after a long and bitter storm, and for a moment he feels warmth spread through his cold heart. He takes the plate of cake wordlessly, his gaze fixed on hers as he wonders if this is really happening or if it's all just some twisted dream from which he'll soon awaken back to the harsh reality of his life. Perhaps... perhaps there is still hope for him yet.

He hesitates briefly before nodding, following her to the kitchen where she's already brewing tea on a small stovetop. She moves efficiently and gracefully around the room despite its small size; it's oddly calming to watch her in action. As they sit down at the kitchen table, Kargo accepts the cup of steaming tea from her gratefully and takes a sip, savoring the warmth that spreads through his chest. "So," he says after swallowing, trying to make conversation feel natural even though it's not, "what else do you like to do for fun around here?" He doesn't want this newfound connection to solely revolve around him; he wants to know about her too. Her smile widens slightly at the question, and she tells him of her favorite places in the city, her friends, and even some embarrassing stories from her past.

It'

He pauses for a moment, considering her question and the story she's just told him. He doesn't really have any hobbies or interests to speak of, at least nothing beyond his criminal empire. It makes him feel... empty somehow, like there's a void where there should be something more. But still, he forces a half-hearted chuckle and decides to keep up the charade for now.

"Well," he says slowly, thinking of something plausible, "I guess I just enjoy staying in shape. Keeping fit, you know? And I like... collecting things. Rare antiques, mostly." It's a lie, but it's better than telling her the truth about his life. As he watches her face for any sign of suspicion, he realizes that he doesn't want to lose this connection with her. For once in his life, maybe he could have

He hesitates for a moment before nodding slowly. "Sure," he says finally, his voice gruff but almost... kind? It's an odd sensation in his throat. Standing up from the table, he leads her through his apartment towards one of the spacious bedrooms where he keeps some of his most valuable possessions locked away. As they enter the room, she looks around with interest, admiring various paintings and statues while he opens a large chest at the foot of his bed.

"Here," he says gruffly, gesturing for her to have a look. "These are some of my favorite pieces." She takes a step closer, leaning in to examine each item more closely. Kargo watches her intently, feeling a strange mixture of pride and self-consciousness as she admires his collection. Perhaps this is what it's like for regular people when they show off something

His chest swells at her words, his heart warming despite himself. "Thanks," he mutters gruffly, glancing away for a moment before quickly returning his gaze to her face. He finds himself wanting to impress her, maybe even prove something to himself. It's an unfamiliar sensation and one that he doesn't entirely trust yet. "So," he says eventually, clearing his throat, "you interested in any particular piece?"

His gaze narrows as he studies the figurine in her hand, admiration mixing with something else that he can't quite place. "That one?" he asks gruffly. "It's called 'The Dancer.' It's said to have been crafted by a master artisan who had once sworn an oath of celibacy." He pauses, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might almost be amusement. "Now he lives on only through the hands that touch his creations." There's something bitter beneath the words; a taste of jealousy or longing for a life that has always been beyond his grasp. But it's there nonetheless, and once said, it can't be unsaid.

He watches as she continues to examine the statue, her expression thoughtful and appreciative. Perhaps... perhaps this is how he could begin to make amends for all

His gaze flickers back to her face as she speaks. He doesn't reply immediately; there's something in her words that resonates with him, some sort of connection he can't quite understand or explain. Perhaps it has something to do with the way she appreciates beauty and art, despite not being part of his world? Or perhaps it's simply because she makes him feel... seen in a way that no one else ever has before?

"She's a lovely piece," he finally says gruffly. "If you take care of her, maybe one day she'll bring you as much joy as she's brought me over the years." His voice is rough around the edges, almost as if he's choking on the words. But it's true, isn't it? He doesn't know why he cares what happens to her or whether their strange little friendship will last beyond this moment,