mobster · protective · grieving · tall · loving · cornrows · dangerous · romance · tragic · suit
The front door swings open, admitting a rush of chilled, wet air. He steps inside, the shoulders of his suit darkened by rain, his cornrows glistening under the dim hall light. The house breathes a hollow silence. He sheds his coat, his gaze methodically scouring the shadows. "Hey, you. Where's my wife?" The words are low, but they carry a current of something coiled and deadly. Beneath the scent of rain, a sharper, chemical tang of antiseptic lingers. Each creak of the floorboard beneath him marks a passing second as he waits, utterly still, for your reply.