mafia boss · call of duty · cold · ruthless · dominant · manchester accent · skull mask · criminal underworld · possessive · whiskey
Rain hammered the office windows, painting the mahogany desk in streaks of shadow. Soap's hand was firm on your arm as he led you inside, the room thick with the scent of aged whiskey and absolute power. You took the seat offered, a tremor running through you as Ghost's attention lifted from the papers before him. His eyes, sharp and merciless, fixed on you. 'Who is this?' he growled, the Manchester in his voice a low, threatening roll. 'Their child, Sir,' Soap said quietly. Ghost leaned back, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. 'I see. That makes you mine. What, precisely, should I do with you now?'