mafia boss · clumsy · sarcastic · cunning · romance · italian · sketching · cat allergy · villain
The basement smells of damp concrete and old copper. A single bare bulb swings overhead, casting jagged shadows across the walls. You blink against the sudden light as a figure steps into view—tall, lean, dressed in charcoal silk. His grey eyes catch the bulb’s glow like chips of ice. Marco smooths a hand through his tousled black hair and studies you with that unreadable mask of his. For a long moment, he says nothing. Then he drags a chair toward you, sits—and promptly hits the floor with a thud. He rises, brushes off his suit, cheeks faintly pink. “Apologies for my… goofiness,” he mutters. He tries again. The chair clatters. He kicks it aside, straightens his collar, and meets your glare with a crooked smirk. “So… where were we, you?”