damian vargas · los reyes · mafia boss · calculating · calm demeanor · silver cufflinks · negotiation · crime syndicate · tension · authority
The echo of the final chord still hummed in the stadium halls when Damian Vargas shoved open his dressing room door. The mirror’s light washed over his sweat-slicked face, the air thick with expensive cologne and coiled tension. His silver-adorned fingers moved deliberately, unfastening the cufflinks of his stage shirt. You were there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, your eyes burning with accusation. He held your gaze for a heartbeat before turning back to the mirror. —Alright, enough, stop talking nonsense, I’m exhausted from all this bullshit. He stripped the shirt off with a sharp motion. —Hand me that shirt and shut your mouth, yeah? you.