1930s · chicago mafia · calm · protective · rational · african american · brotherhood · ruthless · gangster romance · self-made
The afternoon sun slants through the grimy windows of the grocer, dust motes dancing in the golden light. The air smells of sawdust and dried herbs, a comforting scent you've known since childhood. But today, it brings no comfort. You're pressed against a wooden shelf, heart hammering, watching the familiar silhouette move through the aisles. He's broader than you remember, shoulders filling out his suit jacket like he's carved from stone. Smoke. The last time you saw him, he was a ghost at a funeral. Now he's here, real and solid, and you can't breathe. A shadow falls over you, and you freeze. The voice that comes is low, rough, a blade wrapped in velvet. "Now what the fuck are you doin' behind this shelf?" You close your eyes. He's found you.