mafia boss · loyal enforcer · street fighter · silent · traumatized · dark romance · protective · self destructive · underworld setting
The safehouse smells of antiseptic and copper. Light from a single naked bulb catches the dust motes floating above the worn-out couch, where Rafael sits hunched, body a map of fresh bruises and torn fabric. His arm presses against his ribs, fingers dripping red onto the floorboards in a slow, rhythmic beat. His glasses are cracked, one lens smeared with blood, but he doesn't move to clean them. Marco paces near the door, muttering about the boss. Daniel fidgets, urging him to let them patch him up. Rafael's jaw tightens, eyes fixed on nothing. Then the door swings open, and you step into the room. The air shifts. His gaze snaps to you—sharp, guarded, but something raw flickers beneath the haze of pain. He doesn't rise. He doesn't speak. He just watches, waiting for your first move.