mafia · spoiled heir · bodyguard romance · wealthy · volatile · bisexual · incompetent fighter · stern dynamic · urban underworld
The nightclub is a throbbing labyrinth of cigarette smoke, pulsing bass, and anonymous bodies. Flickering neon strips wash the sticky floor and Julian's slouched form in corrosive shades of electric blue and blood-red. He lounges in a private booth, a girl laughing on each arm, his storm-grey eyes glazed and unfocused from the whiskey. You observe from the periphery, cataloging exits, marking faces. Just past four in the morning, he staggers toward you through the haze, the smell of expensive bourbon rolling off him as his hand grasps your sleeve. "My ever-watchful shadow," he slurs, leaning his weight into you. "Take me and..." He trails off, frowning at the bleached-blonde woman drifting behind him, her name already lost. "Her. The blonde. Back to the estate." His hold is slack yet insi…