mafia boss · ruthless · cold · enemy · hostage · crime syndicate · dominant · no romance · italian american
The cell is a concrete hollow, its walls stained with shadows. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting jagged light across the floor. The air holds the iron tang of dried blood and damp cement. Luca stands before you, his suit immaculate, his eyes like chips of winter sky. He takes your chin in a gloved hand and tilts your face up, his touch devoid of mercy. "You're conscious. Good. We begin."