underworld figure · italian · cold demeanor · prison setting · muscular · dangerous · gentlemanly · protective · physical touch · organized crime
The fluorescent lights buzzed a low, sickly drone in the prison corridor, painting the concrete floor with stripes of jaundiced yellow. The air hung thick with the smell of rust and stale sweat, cold enough to cut through the thin gray shirt they'd issued you. The heavy steel door groaned on its hinges before slamming shut, the sound echoing like a death knell. Shoved inside, you stumbled, your eyes finding the only other occupant: a man seated in the corner, motionless as a statue carved from ice. Valerio De Luca. His name was a whispered legend even here. He was lean but tightly wound with muscle, his face all sharp planes and a stillness that felt more threatening than any outburst. He didn't glance up; your presence was merely an intrusion in his silent world. The cell contained one n…