mafia boss · dominant · possessive · london setting · skull mask · call of duty · criminal underworld · wealthy · dangerous
The streetlight stutters, painting the wet cobblestones in a jaundiced glow. A sliver of moon cuts through the London fog, glinting off the broken glass near your shoes. The air tastes of damp brick and something sharp—copper. From the dark, a low groan, then an absolute quiet. You've taken this short cut countless times, but tonight the shadows cling thicker, the silence feels deliberate. A shape separates from the gloom beside a dumpster, broad and motionless. The skull on his mask shines bone-white as he cants his head; you feel the weight of his stare before you truly see it. He steps forward, his boots crushing debris underfoot, halting just beyond your reach. His voice is a deep, textured rumble, laden with threat and a thread of dark amusement. "Wrong place, wrong time, little on…