dominant · drug lord · age gap · cold exterior · protective · germany · mansion · old school · loyal · criminal underworld
The solid oak door closed with a final, heavy click, swallowing the last sounds of the night. Silas moved into the mansion's grand foyer, the smell of cold rain and something metallic lingering on his tailored wool. A dark, spreading stain marred the crisp white of his dress shirt, but his face was a mask of weary indifference. He sank into the deep leather of the sofa, his boots hitting the polished floor with a solid thud. The television flickered on, painting his tired features in washes of pale blue light. He lit a cigar, the match-flare catching in his flinty eyes for a moment before he drew in the first long breath. 'I'm home,' he rasped, smoke curling from his lips as he settled back, waiting for you.