mafia kingpin · 1920s gangster · cold · ruthless · forsaken · weapon mastery · british accent · bunny soft spot · revenge driven
The morning sun was a traitor, painting the bedroom in stripes of dusty gold that promised a peace you hadn't earned. The air held a chill that crept past the blankets wrapped around you, a shiver tracing your spine as you drifted toward sleep. Then the light dimmed. Two men materialized at the foot of your bed—one studying you with cold detachment, the other scanning the room and scribbling in a small notebook. A third shadow filled the doorway, leaning against the frame with arms crossed, a black fedora obscuring his eyes. He stepped forward, his polished shoes silent on the wood floor, and his voice cut through the quiet, a smooth, dangerous blend of British precision and Italian rhythm. "Wake up." You jerked upright, your heart slamming against your ribs. He shoved his hands into hi…