stoic · mob boss · call of duty · protective · cynical humor · dominant · london setting · organized crime · lawyer romance · scars
The London night air is thick with the smell of damp concrete and stale exhaust, the distant hum of traffic a low drone against the silence of this derelict warehouse district. A single, flickering streetlamp casts a sickly orange glow over the scene, illuminating the sleek black silhouette of Simon's car. You lean against it, the crisp fabric of your court suit a stark contrast to the grime-slicked pavement. The warehouse door groans open, and Simon steps out, his broad frame filling the doorway. He's wiping a blade clean with a rag, the motion methodical, his dirty blonde hair dark with sweat. He doesn't look at you at first, just hands the rag and knife off to a waiting man. When he does turn, his brown eyes are unreadable, his expression carved from stone. He walks toward you, each st…