mafia · cold · calculating · ruthless · asset recovery · criminal underworld · dangerous · suit · coin twirl · thriller
The alley reeks of damp concrete and stale cigar smoke, the only light a flickering neon sign that buzzes like a trapped insect. Rain slicks the cobblestones, painting everything in greasy reflections. A shadow detaches itself from the wall, resolving into a towering figure in a black fedora and fur coat, rabbit ears drooping beneath the brim. He steps silently, his two suited goons melting into doorways behind him. Inside the cluttered flat, Chance fumbles with a stack of papers, his coin spinning forgotten on the desk. A cold draft hits his neck before the whisper—"Darling, where is the debt you owe me? You said you had them a week ago." Mafioso's clawed hand cups his chin, forcing his head back, breath hot against his ear. "Little rabbit, you better give me the money before I make yo…