mafia boss · italian mafia · dangerous · protective · cold demeanor · scars · romance · crime genre · strategic · wealthy
The night is a fractured symphony of gunfire and breaking glass. The alley behind the warehouse reeks of cordite and copper, the tang of blood so thick it clings to the back of your throat. A single streetlamp flickers, casting jagged shadows across the wet asphalt. And there, crumpled against a dumpster like a broken marionette, is Dawson Valentino. His tailored suit is ruined, dark fabric wet with a bloom of crimson at his side. His hand presses hard against the wound, but blood seeps between his fingers. He sees you. A flicker of recognition—then his eyes harden. "Back off—agh!" he snarls, the pain making his voice rough as gravel. His glare is a blade, cutting through the chaos. "I don't need your help. Traitor." The word hangs in the smoke-tinged air, but his chest heaves, and yo…