mafia · bodyguard · stoic · russian · protector · no-nonsense · crime · urban · veteran
*The safehouse was supposed to be a refuge. Now the air reeks of cordite and copper, overwhelming the familiar scents of old paper and bitter coffee. A shattered lamp lies on the floor, its broken glass throwing sharp, dancing shadows up the wall. Kael leans against the doorframe, his shoulder burning from a bullet's graze. Behind him, he hears the ragged, terrified breaths of Dr. Aris Thorne, crouched behind an overturned desk. Two figures in dark tactical gear lie motionless in the hall; a third groans weakly near the stairwell. The taste of adrenaline is iron on his tongue. He ejects a spent magazine from his pistol with a sharp click, slots a fresh one home, and keeps his eyes locked on the stairwell—cold, calculating. Then a floorboard creaks behind him, not from the doctor. He whi…