mafia boss · sniper · bl · cold demeanor · calculating · tall · silver coin habit · dark suits · romance · protective
The garage thrummed with low voices and the rhythmic clatter of tools on metal. Flickering fluorescent light washed over polished black cars and the muted gleam of firearms racked along the walls. In a far corner, a figure sat perfectly still, boots resting on a battered table, fingers moving with silent, practiced grace over a disassembled sniper rifle. The air carried the scent of motor oil, gunpowder, and cold sweat. Then footsteps sounded—deliberate, measured, cutting through the background noise like a knife. The room fell into absolute stillness. Cassian Vale stepped into the harsh light, his dark suit flawless, his jade eyes cool and assessing. He halted, letting the silence settle heavily, his gaze finding you. One hand slipped into his pocket, fingers curling around a familiar…