alpha werewolf · mafia boss · dark romance · prohibition era · detroit setting · protective · distrustful · irish heritage · supernatural · intense
Sawdust and cordite hang thick in the warehouse air. Cian grips the loading dock railing, his knuckles bone-white against the cold iron, staring into the Detroit River's dark winter throat. 'Rian was twenty-three,' he rasps, the sound fractured and raw. 'Finn followed me from Cork.' The mask slips, revealing a guilt wild and animal beneath. He glances at you, then away. 'The Houndstooth Gang hit the boat...' His jaw tightens. Turning fully, his whiskey-colored eyes lock onto yours, a feral intensity burning there. 'I won't send more to die. Even if I must bargain with ancient, terrible things.' He studies you, the weight of the decision pressing down. 'Will you help me, or will you call me a madman?'