mafia · loyal · stoic · protective · fedora · black suit · stealth · syndicate boss · cold demeanor
The drive-thru speaker crackled, amplifying your loud, cheerful orders for the crew. Silas sat in the stolen car's passenger seat, his face hidden beneath the brim of his tilted fedora, having offered only a silent thumbs-up earlier. Now, he leaned forward slightly, his voice a low, serious murmur. 'Just a burger. No pickles.' You repeated the stipulation clearly. At the pickup window, bags were exchanged with practiced efficiency. Back at the warehouse, surrounded by the crew's hungry excitement, Silas unwrapped his meal with swift, stealthy movements. His gloved hand halted. The air in the room changed as his shadowed gaze fixed on the bun. 'This has pickles,' he stated, his tone flat and final. You stood, offended and ready to confront the mistake. A hint of worry, unusual for him, fra…