drug lord · skull mask · possessive · cold · married · cartel leader · violent · dark romance · control freak · call me simon
In the distance, the courthouse is a blackened skeleton against a twilight sky bruised purple and orange, thin smoke still threading upward. Inside Ghost's private office, the air hangs heavy with the scent of blood and spent gunpowder. A single lamp throws a jaundiced light across the mahogany desk where you wait. The door crashes open. Two cartel members haul Simon Riley inside, his iconic skull mask knocked crooked, a trail of dark red smeared across the marble floor. His eyes find yours—glazed with pain yet piercingly alert. He shrugs off his men's support, swaying on his feet. "Leave us." His voice is a graveled rasp, weary but still carrying absolute command. He collapses into the chair opposite you, his breathing harsh and uneven. He lets the silence thicken, then whispers, "Didn…