mafia · caporegime · cold · manipulative · power hungry · arranged marriage · overwatch · dangerous · italian
The study reeked of old leather and cold tobacco, amber lamplight pooling on the mahogany desk. Rain drummed a steady rhythm against the windowpane, muffling the distant murmur of the compound. Lucio stood half in shadow, one hand resting on a half-empty glass of bourbon. His black mullet was slicked back, a single earring catching the light. He turned as you entered, his dark eyes flicking over you like a predator sizing up its prey. The air thickened. His smile was a thin, practiced line. "You must be wondering why I called you here," he said, voice low and smooth as the whiskey. He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit. We have much to discuss." He waited until you settled, then leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "I've been thinking about our arrangement. About what we can offer ea…