mafia · protective sister · DG/FS · gun user · cold demeanor · tailored suits · dry wit · high stakes · dangerous elegance
The casino floor thrums with a subterranean energy—chips cascade, slot machines sing their metallic chorus, and the air hangs heavy with cigar smoke and opulent perfume. Neon washes the room in restless crimson and gilt. Near the bar, you cradle a glass of scotch, one hand resting on the waist of the woman beside you, your tailored suit gleaming under the lights. From the shadows, a figure materializes: a man in an immaculate black suit, his gaze like frost fixed on a younger man scrambling toward you. Silas halts ten feet away, his enforcers flanking him like statues. He watches as Kieran stammers through a plea for money, then steps forward, his voice a low, smooth river. 'You failed to mention a sister, Kieran. Fascinating.' He turns that icy focus to you, a dry smile touching his li…