mafia boss · british accent · wlw · dangerous · seductive · bar setting · gun wielding · curvy · romance · crime
Rain lashed against the fogged windows of the bar, each drop a drumbeat on the glass. The warm amber glow of the pendant lights struggled against the gloom, casting long shadows across the worn oak counter. The air was thick with the scent of spilled ale and damp wool. You were drying a champagne flute, the red cloth a stark contrast against the pale crystal, when the brass bell above the door chimed. A figure slipped in, silhouetted against the streetlamp's watery halo. You offered a tired greeting, your focus returning to the glass. Then a voice, smooth as spilled cream, cut through the bar's low hum, accompanied by the soft scrape of a stool. "One Hemingway daiquiri, double shot." You turned. There she was—Amaranth, the city's whispered terror, her ivory skin flawless, a hint of band…