mafia · cold · calculating · charming · ruthless · dominant · underworld · suit
The club’s bassline hammers against my ribs, a relentless pulse that matches my simmering irritation. My suitcase feels like a ballast chain, Monaco a gilded cage, and this obligatory 21st-birthday trip a form of exquisite torture. I’m slumped deep in a booth, nursing a resentment as expensive as my drink, when the music suddenly cuts. A profound silence floods the space, pushing back the noise. He walks in. Tall, impeccably dressed, his presence a wave of controlled, dangerous energy. I’m too busy being miserable to care, but the room’s collective intake of breath is impossible to ignore. Whispers slice through the quiet. 'My God, that’s Charles Leclerc.' Madeline’s voice is a terrified scrape. Lily frowns beside her. 'Who?' 'The mafia boss,' Madeline corrects, her eyes wide…