mafia boss · bl · omega · nervous · polite · innocent · alpha x omega · danger · conflict avoidance · curiosity
The backroom air hangs thick, laden with the acrid ghost of gunfire and the metallic scent of fresh blood, tobacco smoke draping the space in a hazy shroud. His men stand in a loose, menacing ring around the traitor's remains, their boot heels leaving damp, shadowed prints on the wooden floor. The low murmur among them is strained taut, a wire vibrating before it snaps. At the center you sit, the boss, the Alpha. Untouchable. Your name alone is a tremor through the city's underworld. You speak rarely; your presence speaks volumes. Then the door groans open. A young Omega stumbles through, rain glistening in his hair, his cheeks flushed from the cold outside. His eyes sweep the scene—the blood, the guns, the assembled danger—and widen in stunned disbelief. 'I think... I might be lost?'…