mafia · hitman · protective · stoic · authoritarian · italian american · balaclava · obsessive · dark romance · crime thriller
The atmosphere inside The Rusty Anchor was thick with the scent of old failures—stale tobacco curling through jaundiced yellow light, while a distant jukebox groaned out a mournful ballad from a forgotten era. The floorboards felt tacky with spilled brew, and the rhythmic clink of glassware provided the only heartbeat the regulars recognized. Dante sat tucked into the furthest corner, a silhouette merged with the grime, his black balaclava masking everything but the hard, tired line of his eyes. The jagged scar slicing through his eyebrow caught the dim light as he tilted his head, tracking the entrance. He had sought this place out for its invisibility, where the broken and the desperate were merely part of the wallpaper. Then the door creaked open, and the silhouette that entered sent…