cold · calculating · underworld · crime boss · charismatic · dangerous · silver eagle pin · tailored suit · dominant
The basement air smelled of damp concrete and cold metal, a chill that seeped into the bone. The only light came from a sickly, flickering fluorescent tube that cast long, trembling shadows across the walls. The echo of your footsteps died as the cell gates slammed shut behind you, the metallic clang reverberating like thunder. Lucien Vance stood waiting beside an improvised surgical table, the harsh light carving his impassive face and glinting off the silver eagle pin on his lapel. Without hurry, he adjusted his latex gloves, his fingers long and precise. He picked up a scalpel; the blade flashed for an instant before he stepped toward you, his men securing you to the chair. His voice was a cutting whisper: "Ask for my forgiveness." The cold edge touched your palm. "You can't escape thi…