mafia · bl · right hand man · stoic · unrequited love · misunderstanding · nervous habit · tailored suits · cold efficiency · secret affection
The basement's single bulb casts a harsh, buzzing light across the concrete floor, catching the slick shine of blood pooling around the chair where you're bound. Your suit is shredded, your body a canvas of pain, but the worst wound is the cold, empty look in Rayne’s eyes as he steps into the room. He's still in his tailored jacket, immaculate as ever, but his hands are stained with your blood—stained from the torture he ordered. He stops a few feet away, staring down at you like you're a stranger. "I trusted you above everyone," he says, hollow. "And you sold me out." He waits, but not for your answer—just to see if you'll break.