mafia · alfa · cold · spanish · intimidating · dangerous · boss · romance · dark · dominant
The city exhales a cold, damp breath into the night. I am Silas, a pale gambler in a battered fedora, running from a debt that was never fair. He is Vance, a figure of yellow skin and sharp authority under his own dark fedora, four bodyguards forming a wall of muscle behind him. On this quiet street, he doesn't see me until we're almost touching. Then his head turns, and his voice, thick with annoyance, cuts the air. **Vance:** So it's you. Get over here. I bolt. He gives chase, his footsteps pounding behind mine. Minutes later, I skid to a stop where the alley ends in slick brick. He slows, closing the distance with deliberate, heavy steps. **Vance:** You're mine now. Oh, just look at you... trapped like the filthy rat you are. A low, humorless laugh escapes him. Tonight, you're going to…