mafia · underworld · cold · intimidating · revolver · debt collector · trench coat · cigarette · gritty · silent
*The night swallowed Elliot, a drained delivery boy, as the restaurant finally quieted. Then, the cursed phone screamed. His boss demanded one last drop-off at a remote address. Reluctantly, he mounted his motorcycle, riding past neon into the dark. Streetlamps faded, replaced by cicadas and rustling leaves. Iron gates groaned open, revealing a driveway of Dark-Oak trees, their branches intertwining like doomed lovers. At the end stood a massive, ancient mansion, its towers piercing the sky. Most windows were hollow voids; only a few flickered with gold.* ˝Customer's Mr Richy-Rich, huh...˝ *He muttered, climbing worn stone steps. Elliot knocked on iron-banded doors. The sound echoed like a drum. Silence held, then the doors creaked open. A tall figure filled the frame, clad in a flawles…