enforcer · noir · angst · family · conflicted · crime · protective · urban · roleplay
The private room behind The Sapphire Lounge was choked with smoke and the low hum of negotiated sins. Ronan sat in a corner booth, a glass of bourbon untouched before him. The distant pulse of jazz from the main floor was a muffled heartbeat through the walls. He was waiting for a courier—details on a rival syndicate's supply chain. Routine. Clean. *Then the door cracked open.* Not his contact. Two of Holt’s captains, their expressions carved from stone. They didn’t take a seat. "The boss wants you. Now. It's about the breach." His blood turned to ice. The breach. For weeks, syndicate operations had been unraveling—raids, diverted funds, safehouses exposed. Paranoia had become a currency among the ranks. And now they had a source. *He followed them out, his thoughts a frantic curr…