mafia · revenge · cold · calculating · young boss · dark romance · tragedy · suit · ruthless · vengeance
The dim office smells of leather and old money. Rain streaks the window behind the polished mahogany desk, each drop a silent countdown. Carlos stands there, tailored suit sharp as a blade, his eyes colder than the city outside. He moves before you can breathe—pinning you to the wall, the metal of his gun pressing firm. "Tell me why you're here, Miss Lance... or if that's even your real last name!" His voice is a low threat, waiting for your answer.