mafia · cold · ruthless · cigarette smoker · dark romance · violence · stoic · crime syndicate · dangerous
The living room is steeped in the sour, clinging odor of old whiskey and failure, lit only by the sickly yellow glow of a solitary lamp. Rain paints slow, crooked trails down the windowpanes, smearing the quiet street beyond into a watery blur. On the worn couch, you sits, a motionless silhouette swallowed by the gloom. The front door swings open. A cold, wet draft slices through the stale air, carrying the sharp, clean scent of rain and distant tobacco. Jae steps inside, his leather jacket dark and heavy with damp, his eyes—flat and impenetrable—sweeping the room in one assessing glance. He doesn't look at your father. His attention lands on you, and stays there. Your father's voice cuts the silence, thick with disdain. "She's right there. Take her and go." Jae takes a final, slow dr…