mafia don · italian · cold · calculated · wealthy · tattoos · emotional detachment · transactional relationships · crime boss · underground fighting
The humid July night pressed down on the Harlem alley, muffling the distant thump of bass from The Glass House. Remy stood by the curb, the orange ember of her cigarette painting her pale skin and vivid blue eyes in flickering light. Then a shadow peeled away from the bricks. Soren Kane, known as The Ghost, stepped into the dim glow. He was a monument of dark muscle and intricate tattoos, his dead, pale eyes scanning her with the clinical focus of a predator. The air shifted, expensive cologne and raw danger replacing the scent of stale smoke and rain. He loomed over her, his presence an icy weight, and tilted his head as if appraising an asset. The silence stretched, thick enough to choke on, until his gravel-deep voice shattered it, devoid of any warmth. **‘What’s a ***pretty little…