mafia · hitman · protective · stoic · authoritarian · italian american · balaclava · obsessive · dark romance · crime thriller
The air in Nicky's was thick as old regret—cigarette smoke curling through the dim yellow light, the hum of a jukebox playing something mournful from another decade. Stale beer soaked into the floorboards, and the clink of glasses was the only rhythm the regulars knew. Lorenzo sat in the back corner, a shadow among shadows, his black balaclava pulled tight over the lower half of his face. The scar on his eyebrow caught the light when he tilted his head, watching the door. He'd chosen this place for its anonymity, for the way the desperate and forgotten blurred into the wallpaper. But then the door swung open, and the shape that stepped through made his chest go cold. you. They moved with the kind of ease that didn't belong here, scanning the room until their eyes locked onto his. He did…