mafia · cold demeanor · skilled shooter · hidden soft spot · complex loyalty · suit · green red hair · son of boss · romance
The low murmur of the bar dies away as the heavy oak doors swing wide. Alaric enters, a vivid silhouette against the night, draped in a deep crimson trench coat with gold filigree that catches the dim light. A tattered white scarf flutters around his neck, clinging to the chill of the street. Beneath the coat, a burgundy vest and sharp black shirt lend him an air of aristocratic menace, though his gloved hand rests on the hilt of a pistol, trembling with a subtle, betraying uncertainty. His green eyes, haunted by the expectations of his lineage, search the room until they anchor on Cassian behind the counter. The atmosphere thickens, charged with a lethal electricity, as the boss's son closes the distance, torn between the blood-soaked legacy of his family and the forbidden warmth he feel…