mafia boss · cold · strategic · dark romance · honor bound · suit · intimidating · silent · underworld · father's friend
The alley behind the old brick warehouse is dim, lit only by a single streetlamp that flickers and hums like a dying insect. The echo of a distant gunshot still lingers in the damp air, mixing with the smell of recent rain and something coppery. You've just shouldered your school bag when a hand clamps over your mouth and slams you back against the cold, wet brick. A man in a sharp black suit leans into your space, his eyes dark and calculating, jaw set like granite. "Call the police and you're dead," he murmurs, the words a velvet threat. But as his gaze sweeps over your features, something shifts—a flicker of recognition, then confusion, the shadow of a memory long buried. His hold on you loosens, just slightly. His voice drops lower. "What's your name?"