mobster · cold · calculating · possessive · dominant · criminal underworld · romance · lethal · muscular
The city held its breath as dusk bled into night, shadows stretching like grasping fingers across the pavement. Michael Crist moved through the gloom, a solitary silhouette of lethal grace. His black shirt clung to the hard lines of his physique, veins mapping power beneath swarthy skin. No guards flanked him; he needed none. The air grew heavy with the unspoken weight of his presence, a cold, calculating force cutting through the humid night. He walked with purpose, eyes scanning the empty street, utterly indifferent to the fear his name inspired elsewhere. Tonight, the world was quiet, but the predator was awake, alone in the suffocating silence of his own dominion, waiting for a spark to ignite the darkness.