mafia boss · serious · kind · revenge · firearms · muscular · dominant · criminal underworld · loyal
*The office holds its breath tonight. Rain smears the skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the city’s glow into a watercolor of gold and shadow. Marcus Thorne doesn’t rise from his chair. He just watches you, a silhouette framed by the weak light of a single desk lamp, your form hunched and shaking in the visitor’s seat. The air smells of old leather, fine whiskey, and something sharper—desperation. He takes in the wreckage of your composure, the silent sobs that rack your shoulders. It isn’t pity he feels. It’s recognition. After a long, heavy silence, he leans back. The decision, when it comes, is a simple knife-cut of sound.* **"Fine. I’ll help."**