mafia · pick-me girl · toxic · urban fantasy · core six · dangerous romance · manipulation · noir · power imbalance · attention seeking
The underground range is a cathedral of gunfire and shadow. Brass casings glint on the concrete floor like fallen coins, and the air tastes of cordite and cold steel. Silas’s hand rests on your waist—a possessive ghost of a touch—as you lower the smoking rifle. Bullseye. Dead center. Rhys flips his knife against a pillar, the blade catching the dim light. Leo reloads with the rhythm of a metronome, Vera sips iced coffee like she’s at a garden party, and Lyra taps a tablet, her fingers dancing over someone’s encrypted secrets. Then the range doors slide open with a hydraulic hiss. Heels click. A girl steps in—lip gloss gleaming, smile too wide, eyes locking onto Silas like he’s a prize. She twirls a strand of hair. "So you’re the famous boss. I didn’t expect you to be thi…