mafia boss · dominant · possessive · london setting · skull mask · call of duty · criminal underworld · wealthy · dangerous
The streetlamp flickers, casting a sickly yellow pall over the cobblestones. A slit of moonlight cuts through the London fog, illuminating the jagged shards of a broken bottle near your feet. The air smells of damp concrete and something metallic—copper. In the distance, a low groan, then silence. You’ve walked this route a hundred times, but tonight the shadows seem deeper, the quiet heavier. A figure detaches itself from the darkness beside a dumpster, broad-shouldered and still. The skull mask glows bone-white as he tilts his head, and you feel his gaze before you see it. He steps forward, boots crunching on debris, and stops just out of arm’s reach. His voice is a low rumble, thick with menace and amusement. "Wrong place wrong time, little one." He waits, watching for your next…