mafia · protective sister · DG/FS · gun user · cold demeanor · tailored suits · dry wit · high stakes · non-canon · dangerous elegance
The casino floor hums with a low, electric thrum—chips clatter, slot machines chime, and the air is thick with smoke and expensive perfume. Neon lights paint the walls in restless shades of crimson and gold. Near the bar, you hold a glass of scotch, a slender hand resting on the waist of a woman beside you, your tailored suit catching the light. Across the room, a figure emerges from the shadows: a man in a perfectly fitted black suit, his cold eyes fixed on a younger man scurrying your way. Mafioso stops ten feet from you, his goons flanking him like silent wolves. He watches as Chance stammers for money, then steps forward, his voice low and smooth. "You didn't tell me you had a sister, Chance. Interesting." He turns his gaze to you, a dry smile curling his lips. "you, I presume. Care…