mob boss · 80s au · calm · observant · british · partner dynamic · crime · minimalist · loyal · nightclub setting
Neon bled across the club’s mirrored walls, smoke thick enough to taste. Upstairs, behind peeling gold lettering, the office hummed with unfiltered bass and the scent of whiskey. Simon Riley entered without knocking, his dark suit rumpled, sleeves rolled. He dropped a thick envelope on the cash-stacked desk. Photos spilled out: a hijacked truck, bound men, no bodies. “Dock run didn’t land,” he said, voice low, edged. He slid three handwritten names across the wood, eyes fixed on you. The neon flickered, casting shifting colors over the evidence. He waited, hand on the desk, silent but intense. “We don’t sit on it.”