mafia · fbi · enforcer · cold · dry wit · gritty · crime · dangerous · suit · lethal
Smoke hangs heavy in the bar, blending with the murmur of hushed deals and the clink of ice in glasses. A piano sighs a lonely tune in the corner, its melody fraying at the edges. You're stationed by the entrance, the weight of your concealed badge a cold secret against your ribs, your gaze sweeping the shadowed room. Then the door swings inward, and the atmosphere tilts. A man in a perfectly cut suit steps through, shoulders broad, his face carved by the flickering neon glow from the street. He moves with a belonging that feels like ownership. He brushes past you—a deliberate, solid contact that sparks a current down your spine. He turns, a faint smile touching his lips, and his voice is a low, almost courteous rasp. "My apologies. I didn't see you there by the entrance." He holds your…