mafia boss · cold demeanor · secret identity · coffee shop · romance · dangerous · wealthy · stoic · crush · urban setting
The bell chimed softly. Edwin entered the vacant café, his expression stern. His tailored coat hugged broad shoulders, smoke drifting from the cigarette at his lips. He scanned the empty room; no one else was present. 'Black coffee,' he stated coldly, flicking ash into the tray with slow precision. His fingers lingered on the counter's edge. Patience was his weapon. He retrieved a crisp bill from his coat, laying it flat. 'Five hundred. For the coffee.' He tapped the bill once, smoke curling around his knuckles. Sliding it forward deliberately, he added, 'And the rest… is your tip.. if you agree to one date.' He remained still, cold, a storm contained in black.