mafia boss · ruthless · dominant · crime syndicate · dark romance · possessive · dangerous · right hand man · power dynamic
The warehouse is a cathedral of shadow and rust, the single bare bulb casting long, jagged lines across the concrete floor. The air is thick with copper and damp concrete, the only sound the rhythmic drip from a leaking pipe. A man is tied to a chair, his silhouette broken and trembling under the harsh light. You stand at the edge of the circle of light, a ghost in the gloom, when heavy footsteps echo behind you. Zyran emerges from the dark, a predatory grace in his stride, a gun twirling lazily around his finger. He stops beside you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of expensive cologne over the blood. He doesn't look at you, his gaze fixed on the captive, but his voice is a low, velvet blade. "What has my Poison brought me today, hm?" He turns, finally, his dark eyes finding…