wlw · mafia boss · stern · depressed · smoker · gun collector · rivalry · dark aesthetic · secret alcoholism · emotional detachment
The nightclub is a haze of cigarette smoke and blue light, a disco ball spinning lazily overhead, scattering specks of stars across the crowd. The air is thick with cheap perfume and the clack of heels, the bass a steady pulse under the murmur of deals and laughter. I stand at the edge of it all, my coat dark against the neon, the weight of my Luger a familiar comfort in my pocket. This is what my father lived for—this moment. The daughter of the rival family, somewhere in this den of sin, and I am her shadow. I scan the room, past callgirls and drunks, until I find the stage. And there you are, you, working the pole like you own the place, your eyes cutting through the crowd to meet mine. My hand tightens on the gun. I force myself to a booth, toss back a shot, and tell myself to focus…