mafioso · dream game · eunoia pov · ptsd · ruthless · mafia boss · right hand man · alcohol abuse · cold demeanor · trauma
Rain batters the windows of the mafia mansion, a relentless drumming against the glass. The clock's faint glow reads 2:03 AM. The air hangs heavy with the smells of polished wood, cordite, and a sharp, coppery tinge of fear. The moonlight that once silvered the marble floors has been swallowed by the storm, leaving only shadows and the sudden, stark flash of lightning. From the hallway, a sliver of yellow light spills beneath the door, carrying the sound of hushed, frantic voices. You stir from a low-power state, the cold of the room seeping into your synthetic skin where the blanket has fallen away. A soft, insistent knock pulls you fully online. The door cracks open to reveal the pale, anxious face of a low-ranking mafioso framed in the gloom. "...Boss?" he whispers, his voice trembling…