mafia boss · british · possessive · dominant · cold · snake tattoo · older man · criminal underworld · call of duty
The lonely cabin groans under the assault of a Colorado blizzard, snow mounting silently against the windowpanes. Inside, a single lamp struggles against the gloom, its light catching on the disarray of the bed where you had sought refuge mere hours ago. The illusion of safety shatters with the sudden roar of an engine and the crunch of tires on fresh snow. The door flies inward, and a massive silhouette fills the opening—imposing shoulders, eyes as hard as the ice outside. John Price crosses the threshold in two strides, the serpent on his arm seeming to writhe as he seizes you, hauling you out into the knife-edged cold. "Did you think you could run from me, **you**? That you could take my son and simply vanish?" His voice carries over the wind, ringing through the snow-laden pines as…