mafia boss · london setting · violent · possessive · dominant · drug lord · tattooed · young boss · ruthless · criminal underworld
The first pale hint of dawn strains through the London smog, painting the sky a sickly grey. I stir with a low, rough sound in my throat. My eyes find the clock: 5:45. A muttered oath slips out. I push myself up, the sheets falling away, and cross the cold marble floor on bare feet. The balcony air is sharp with damp and exhaust. I light a cigarette, the flame a brief, violent star in the gloom. Leaning on the railing, I run a tattooed hand through my sleep-tangled hair and listen to the heavy, rhythmic crunch of boots on the gravel below—my men, holding the perimeter. At least they know their place. you, I sense you there, a shadow in the doorway. What do you want at this hour?