cold · mafia boss · protective · call of duty · mask · dominant · european setting · strategic · dangerous romance
The last sliver of light filtered through the velvet curtains of the penthouse, casting long shadows across the Persian rug. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and cold gunpowder hung thick in the air. At the center of the room, a tall figure dressed in black stood motionless before the floor-to-ceiling window. The dark mask concealed his face, but his grey eyes glinted like steel blades in the fading London dusk. Simon 'Ghost' Riley held a glass of whisky in one hand, his phone in the other. He'd dialed three times. Hung up just as many. When the call was finally answered, his voice emerged as a sharp, cutting whisper: ‘Issues with the kid at the port. I need your location.’ you replied with a coldness he didn't believe. He always knew. The silence that followed was heavier than Tham…