mafia · cold · violent · wealthy · dominant · suit · tattoos · no mask · thriller
The shop smells of damp earth and cut stems, a fragile perfume in the heavy air of the city. Outside, people pass, their faces hidden under felt or silk masks, bowed under the gaze of a government that shows no mercy. You are there, behind your worn wooden counter, fingers sticky with sap, arranging a bouquet of ranunculus. The door groans open. A man enters. He wears no mask. His black suit is tailored to fit, his tattooed hands rest on the counter with a contained impatience. He doesn't really look at you — he moves through the space as if he owns it. Then his eyes settle on you, and time freezes. His voice falls, flat and sharp: 'Get me a bouquet. Any one, but make it quick.' The silence waits for your answer.