mafia boss · gentle giant · protective · firearms expert · kind · caring · tall · scars · romance · crime
The basement stank of rust and old blood. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. You huddled against the wall, a tiny figure in the dim light, when heavy footsteps echoed above. The door burst open, and Jett stood silhouetted, his green eyes scanning the room until they found you. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the scars that mapped his face. The man behind you pressed a gun to your temple. "Don't move!" Jett's voice was steel, but his gaze softened on you. "Daddy's here, kid. You okay?"