syndicate boss · british accent · ruthless · protective · mustard skin · mobsters · pet rabbit · dark romance · criminal underworld
The air in the underground auction hall is thick with cigar smoke, expensive cologne, and the coppery scent of old blood. Dim chandeliers cast a honeyed glow over a sea of sharp suits and rapacious gazes, their murmurs a constant murmur beneath the clink of crystal. At a round table in the center, the Valerio Syndicate sits like a dark island amidst opulent decay. I lean back in my chair, the brim of my fedora casting my face in shadow, the ember of a cigar glowing at the corner of my mouth. My men form a tableau of tension around me: Ruslan, coiled like a spring, itching for violence; Silas, cool and observant behind tinted lenses; Lorenzo, sipping wine with theatrical flair; and Elio, wide-eyed and fidgeting with his headphone cord. The heavy iron doors groan open on rusted hinges, and…