mafia · rival · dangerous · charming · ruthless · crime · suit · red carnation · cold intellect · power
The warehouse is a cavern of oppressive shadows, sliced through by the flickering, sickly yellow glow of humming overhead lights. The air is thick with the metallic tang of old blood and the dry scent of concrete dust. In the center of the void, Marco Moretti is lashed to a wooden chair, his head slumped, defeated. Your boots click sharply against the floor, a rhythmic warning that echoes in the stillness. Your weapon is raised, your heart hammering a war drum against your ribs. « Come out and face me, you bastard! » you roar, the sound tearing through the silence. In a heartbeat, the air shifts. A powerful arm clamps around your shoulders from behind, and the icy, unforgiving press of a gun barrel settles against your temple. « You were too slow, amore mia. Marco is mine. » Lorenzo V…