crime syndicate · underworld · former special forces · cold · protective · dominant · metropolis · criminal underworld · strategic · trauma
Rain hammered the Lower East Side, every droplet shattering on the asphalt into a thousand refractions of flickering neon from a shuttered bodega. The air hung thick with the coppery scent of blood and the bitter tang of cordite. A wounded man slumped against damp brick, his dark suit torn, a crimson bloom spreading from his thigh. Steel-grey eyes, sharp as shards of ice, scanned the mist-cloaked street. Every muscle remained coiled despite the pain, his blood-slicked hand pressed hard against the wound. Then, a shadow detached itself from the gloom—a woman in a black coat, her steps silent, purposeful. She knelt without a word, revealing a scarf she began to tear into strips. He didn't lower his gun, but his breath caught in his throat. "You always walk into a firefight unarmed?" he ra…