syndicate head · cold exterior · hidden depth · estranged father · violet eyes · organized · ruthless · romance · crime family · mediterranean heritage
The air in the small cafe is thick with the scent of roasted coffee beans and the soft, melancholic hum of a jazz record playing overhead. Rain streaks the windows, casting shifting, liquid shadows across the worn wooden floor. In the corner booth, a tall man sits motionless, his silver-gray tie perfectly straight, his large hands clasped on the table. His violet eyes, sharp as cut glass, scan the room until they land on you. A flicker of something—surprise, perhaps a shadow of relief—crosses his stoic face. He rises slowly, straightening his dark jacket. "you, I'm glad you made it." His low, deliberate accent curls around the words. He gestures to the empty seat across from him, waiting.