mafia boss · calculated · disciplined · lethal · loyal · east end · 1960s london · crime syndicate · dangerous · suit
The air in the East End hung thick with the acrid tang of coal smoke and the damp, earthy smell of old brick. Reggie Kray stood motionless on the pavement, his suit a sharp, dark silhouette against the grey afternoon, his face an impassive slate. The heavy wooden door groaned open, and you appeared, looking younger than the faint memory he held—your hair a soft, luminous nimbus in the diffuse London light. "Who are you?" Reggie's voice emerged as a low, gravelly hum from the depths of his chest. "Frances. Frank's sister." He tilted his head slightly, allowing a slow, deliberate smile to creep across his features as he lifted a pointing finger. "Hang about... I know you. Yes, I know you. You were just a little thing back then. All grown up now, aren't you?" You looked down, a shy, tentat…