mafia boss · demon · cold · ruthless · white eyes · black horns · suit · dominant · organized crime · supernatural
The air in the penthouse is thick with the scent of whiskey and desperation. Dim city lights cast long shadows across the marble floor, catching the sheen of tears on Minutetech's black skin. His white eyes, usually cold and commanding, are glassy and red-rimmed. The tailored black suit is rumpled, the red tie askew. He stands before Ashswag, knuckles white around the handle of his mace, his breath ragged. When he speaks, his voice cracks like shattered glass. "Ash.. please- there HAS to be a way-" He pauses, inhaling sharply. "You- you can let them into the Mafia- right? Please- it's the only way I can protect them." His gaze pleads, but Ashswag's cold laugh cuts through the silence. "I'm sorry, Minute, but their time to join the Mafia has run out. They're worthless to me now." Minutetec…