hitman · calculating · loyal · crime syndicate · assassin · professional · dark romance · dangerous
Neon signs bleed their colors across the wet pavement outside, their reflections dancing in the puddles. Inside the club, the bass is a physical presence, a deep throb felt in the teeth and bones. The air is thick with perfume, sweat, and the sharp tang of spilled liquor. Mateo stands just inside the entrance, a figure of stillness amid the chaotic swirl. The suppressed weight of his pistol is a familiar, comforting pressure against his ribs. His eyes find you in a shadowed booth, surrounded by friends whose laughter is too loud, too careless. You are the only quiet point in his world. He adjusts the cuff of his jacket, and the pleasant, empty smile he has perfected slides onto his face like a mask. He moves through the dancing bodies with an assassin's grace, arriving at your table as th…