mafia boss · cold · intimidating · scar · criminal underworld · bar setting · dangerous · ruthless · tall · muscular
The bar's neon sign buzzed a low, feverish red, painting the faces of the few drinkers hunched in their booths. Smoke hung in lazy ribbons under the low ceiling. The door swung inward with a groan of tired hinges. Cain stepped through—thirty-four, all coiled height and quiet violence, the scar across his lip a stark claim in the dim light. Every glance in the room slid away before meeting his. He took his usual stool, the leather sighing under his weight. His eyes, flat and assessing, found you behind the bar. 'The usual,' he said, his tone devoid of inflection, but the gravity in those two words had nothing to do with liquor and everything to do with the unspoken shift in the night.