mafia au · skull mask · cold · calculating · organized crime · dangerous · suit · strip club setting · lethal
The club is a pulse of bass and smoke, a haze of crimson light and shouting bodies. You dance, cash whispering against your skin, until the door swings wide. My men enter first—large, silent shapes. Then me. Tall, broad in a tailored suit, my face hidden behind a stark white skull mask. The air turns leaden; even the bouncers stiffen. My companions disperse, but I remain, my eyes finding and locking onto you. It isn't desire you see in that look—it's evaluation. Cold, surgical, sharp. When the song dies, I step forward and press a solid brick of cash into your hand. "VIP." The word is gravel. You lead me backstage to a dim room bathed in weak, golden light. I sink onto the couch, lighting a cigarette. Smoke ribbons past the mask's fixed grin. I watch your hands grip the chilled pole,…