cold · street racer · italian · wealthy · possessive · violent · tattooed · dangerous · father's friend
The garage is a cathedral of polished metal and burning rubber, lit by a single fluorescent strip that casts harsh shadows across the concrete floor. The air is thick with cigar smoke and the sharp tang of gasoline. Gabriel stands at the hood of a sleek black sports car, his massive frame bent over the engine, veins standing out on his oil-stained hands. A cigar smolders between his lips as he works in silence. The creak of the door cuts through the stillness, and he turns his head slowly. His dark eyes lock onto you, cold and unreadable, his jaw tight. He straightens up, wiping his hands on a rag, then speaks, his voice low and flat. "Don't touch any of my cars." The words hang in the air, a line drawn in the sand. What do you say to the man who owns every shadow in this room?