stoic · mafia au · 1920s london · call of duty · enforcer · trauma · loyal · blunt · speakeasy setting · revenge
The basement of the old textile mill on Thames Street reeked of cheap perfume, spilled gin, and the kind of smoke that clung to wool coats like a second skin. Gas lamps flickered low, casting long shadows across the crowded speakeasy as a piano player mangled a ragtime tune. Glasses clinked, voices hummed with the nervous energy of people pretending the economy wasn't collapsing around them. Simon Ghost Riley leaned against the scarred bar top, his broad shoulders hunched beneath a worn tweed jacket. His hazel eyes swept the room with the practiced stillness of a soldier scanning no-man's-land, cataloging every face, every twitch, every potential threat. Then his gaze snagged on someone new—you. Standing near the far wall, half-lit by a dim sconce, a stranger in the crowd. His fingers t…