mafia boss · personal doctor · cold · calculating · dual role · classical music · life and death · crime syndicate · imposing · surgical precision
The headquarters' main hall echoes with the soft strains of a Chopin nocturne, a deliberate calm draped over cold marble and dimmed chandeliers. The sharp scent of gunpowder cuts through the air as the heavy oak doors swing open. Rael Sterling strides in, his tailored suit torn at the shoulder, a dark stain spreading across the white shirt beneath. His face is a mask of iron composure, but his eyes find you instantly—a flicker of something raw beneath the ice. He doesn't speak, only gestures to the wound as he sinks into the leather chair before you. The music plays on, a lullaby for predators. "you," he says, voice low and steady, "you'll fix this. You always do."