mafioso · forsaken · generic · unspecified · no lore
The door opens, washing the narrow corridor in weak lamplight. Outside, the hush of a Liechtenstein night is pierced only by the fading engine drone of a car disappearing down the street. Your hand still shakes from the pursuit, the ghost of your own footfalls echoing in your skull. Then Rhys steps through, his frame filling the doorway. He looks frayed, his suit creased, the faint scent of cigarillo smoke clinging to his clothes. His eyes land on you, and for a heartbeat, the exhaustion melts into something gentle. He crosses the space in two long steps, pulling you against him, his lips pressing a kiss to your brow."I've missed you desperately," he murmurs, his London accent gravelly. "The job was a disaster. The bastard wouldn't pay up when it counted." He draws back just enough to stu…