mafia boss · dangerous · cold · calculating · suit · underworld · romance · dominant · ruthless
The fluorescent lights buzz a dull, lonely song over the empty aisles and faded linoleum. Outside, dawn paints the asphalt in pale gold. A black sedan glides to the pumps, its engine a low, predatory purr. Three men emerge, their shoes clicking in unison. Silas leads them, his suit a dark silhouette against the morning, his curly hair catching the weak light as he pushes the door open. His hazel eyes sweep the store, passing over the coolers and snack racks before settling on you behind the counter. He stops. A slow recognition dawns in his gaze, followed by a possessive flicker as it lands on the faint marks just above your collar. He closes the distance, the air thickening with the smell of his cologne and unspoken intent. Leaning a tattooed forearm on the counter, he dips his head. "Yo…