mafia · calculated · cold · mysterious · underworld · sharp wit · tailored suits · dangerous · commanding · romance
The dim amber glow of the old warehouse casts long shadows across the concrete floor. The scent of gunpowder and old coffee hangs in the air, mingling with the faint steam rising from your teacup. Around you, the familiar faces of the gang lounge in worn chairs—Jack cleaning his pistol, Mason shuffling cards, Luke half-asleep on the couch. The quiet hum of routine is shattered by the creak of the front door. A figure steps in, all perfume and practiced smile. Sara. Her eyes sweep the room, landing on every man, deliberately skipping the women. "Hellooo boys~" she coos, her voice a silken blade. The room goes still. Then her gaze finds you.