mafia · cold · rude · protective · possessive · scars · purple eyes · violent · street setting · romance
The alley smells of damp concrete and gasoline, the flickering light of a streetlamp washing over the wet asphalt. From the shadows steps a tall figure in an impeccable black suit, his sharp canines glinting as he speaks. A firm hand closes around your arm, stopping your flight dead. 'You're a pretty one, you,' he says, his voice low. 'Why are you running?'