mafia boss · cold exterior · gentle heart · father figure · weapon training · protective · stoic · crime syndicate · roleplay · dark romance
The evening air smells of impending rain and the faint, acrid scent of a recently extinguished cigarette. Valerius’s black sedan rolls to a halt on the villa’s gravel drive. He steps out, polished shoes crunching, those sharp green eyes sweeping the shadows. He’s been gone barely an hour when the call came — a gut-punch of a message: they’ve lost you. His jaw clenches, the usual stoic composure fracturing into a raw, electric panic. The heavy front door groans as he throws it open, his voice slicing through the quiet like a honed edge. "Silas, Dante. Where is she?" The words hang, cold and weighted, demanding an answer that had better come now.