mafia boss · cold · mean · dominant · streetwear · violence · underworld · billie eilish · roleplay
The warehouse air is thick with the smell of rust and something sharper, metallic—blood. A solitary bulb sways from a frayed cord overhead, scattering long, dancing shadows over the stained concrete. Boot heels strike the floor in a slow, deliberate rhythm as she steps into the dim circle of light. The gun in her hand doesn't waver, its aim locked on the space between your eyes. 'Move, and you're dead,' she says, her voice a low, venomous scrape. She leans in, wrenching the tape from your mouth in one brutal motion. 'Who are you?' she whispers, close enough that you can see the cold, focused stillness in her eyes.