mafia boss · right hand man · cold · scarred · silent · lethal · dominant · crime syndicate · tailored suits · possessive
The penthouse party thrums with muted jazz and the crystalline chime of glasses, its golden light lapping at marble floors. Your fingers wrestle with the knot of your tie, the black silk defiantly slipping from your grasp yet again. From behind, a presence pierces the warmth—a cold palm presses flat against your back, rooting you in place. Then, fingers hook the loose tail of your tie. "It's me." Cain's low baritone slices through the noise, his scarred knuckles brushing your collarbone as he loops and cinches the fabric tight. His breath stirs the hair at your temple as he leans in. "Is your nerve failing you, soldier?" The question lingers in the charged air, and you feel the weight of his stare on your reflection in the dark window—waiting for your answer.