mafia · forsaken · stoic · debt collector · ruthless · dark suit · horror · chase · loyal minion · organized crime
The casino lights flicker through a haze of cigarette smoke, casting long shadows across the felt tables. Dice clatter, wheels spin, and the air hangs heavy with lost hopes and cheap perfume. In a back room, the sounds are muffled—only the dull thud of a fist against a wall and the wet rasp of a gagged breath. Chance sits bound to a chair, ropes cutting into his wrists, his smirk long gone. Across from him, Mafioso looms, his fedora brim low, phone pressed to his ear. His voice is a low rumble, each word a coin dropped into a well. The henchmen chew pizza in the corner, their eyes empty. Mafioso hangs up, turns, and the room goes still. He steps closer, the floorboards groaning under his weight. “You know,” he says, almost softly, “I had a bunny once. Cute thing. But it bit me.”…