Ale followed the crowd, led by the man with the sign, through the square until they reached a building he recognized immediately: the infamous Tavern of the Saints, the well-known stronghold of the Red Band. The tavern, imposing with its worn sign and grimy windows, gave off the false air of a welcoming establishment, hiding its true nature as a den of criminals. From the upper floor, behind thick curtains and poorly closed shutters, shadowy figures carefully observed the happenings below.

Ale recalled the words of Chance, the old beggar. "Read the contract carefully, and above all, be wary..." He tried to stay on guard; twenty silver coins for just one evening of work seemed too good to be true.

They climbed a creaking staircase to the second floor, a place typically reserved for the darker dealings of the gang. There, a dozen people waited—desperate workers seeking quick pay. The mafiosi, dressed in black coats with red shirts underneath and a red scarf tied around their arms, stood behind desks, one of them holding thick documents in his hands.

"Alright, it's simple. We're going to read the contract. Listen carefully, and sign if you agree," one of the mafiosi said, sounding disinterested.

The man began reading the contract aloud in a monotone voice. Ale, remaining vigilant, wanted to ensure there was no hidden trap. So, when the parchment was presented to him after the mafioso's reading, he calmly requested:

"I'd prefer to read the contract myself before signing."

A slight chuckle spread through the room as they handed him the parchment. Ale carefully read through every line. The terms seemed straightforward: one evening of service for twenty silver coins, with some clauses about proper behavior in front of the guests. Then, one line caught his attention:

The servant is required to entertain the clients if requested.

Ale frowned and asked, "What exactly does 'entertain the clients' mean?"

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The mafioso looked up from his papers, a sly grin spreading across his face as he responded nonchalantly:

"Nothing complicated, kid. If a guest asks you to laugh, you laugh. If they want you to sing, you sing. Basically, you do what you're told."

The mafioso's tone hinted that the situation might turn out to be more unpleasant than it seemed, but Ale remained calm. Seeing nothing else suspicious in the document, he signed the contract and handed the parchment back.

Once all the signatures were collected, another mafioso stepped forward with a large sack. He pulled out simple but clean server uniforms and announced, "You'll need the uniform to serve the viscount. It's mandatory. That'll cost you two silver coins each."

Ale frowned again. He spoke up, his voice calm but firm, "Why not just pay us eighteen silver coins upfront and keep the two for the uniforms? It would make more sense."

The mafioso hesitated, caught off guard by Ale's question. His smug grin faded, but before he could stammer out a response, Grulf entered the room, moving calmly. His weathered face, marked by years of criminal dealings, exuded an undeniable authority within the gang.

"It's to stop some folks from running off with the uniform without working," Grulf said in a deep, assured voice, locking eyes with Ale. "You understand, it's a security measure."

The group of workers nodded in agreement, finding the explanation plausible. Though still skeptical, Ale didn't press the matter further. The others began paying the two silver coins for their uniforms, and Ale did the same, though a sense of doubt lingered in his mind.

The mafioso holding the contracts spoke again, this time with a more relaxed tone, "Alright, we expect you all today at 4 PM sharp at the castle's secondary gate, the one for staff. Don't be late, or you'll lose the job—and the two silver coins you just paid."

A murmur of agreement spread through the room. Ale thought to himself that maybe this deal was too good to be true, but with twenty silver coins on the line, he decided it was worth taking the risk.

Once the formalities were over, the group left the building, uniforms in hand, without showing much concern.

But behind them, inside the tavern, the atmosphere shifted instantly.

Grulf shut the office door behind him and turned to his fellow mafiosos, a sinister grin spreading across his face.

"These fools really think we were going to trap them in the contract. We won't even need to this time. They won't make it through the night, anyway."

Raucous laughter echoed through the room as the mafiosos began scheming their next move.