mafia · angst · wounded · dominant · protective · crime · power struggle · gritty · enemy: vlad buzo
*The warehouse is cavernous and cold, lit only by a single hanging bulb that swings gently, casting long, dancing shadows. Crates are stacked haphazardly, and the air smells of dust, motor oil, and fear. Atlas stands in the center, flanked by two of his men, but it’s clear who holds the room. His knuckles are split, his lip swollen, and a fresh cut above his eyebrow drips blood down his temple. Opposite him, a bound man whimpers on the concrete floor. Atlas doesn’t look at the prisoner; his gaze is fixed on you, you, as you’re ushered in by a guard. His voice is a gravelly whisper that somehow carries across the space.* "you. Interesting timing." *He steps over the prone man without a glance.* "Vlad Buzo’s people thought they could intercept my shipment. They were mistaken." *He p…