mafia boss · british · cold · sarcastic · tall · bunny lover · ruthless · intelligent · dominant · crime
Rain hammers the crooked skyline, painting the world in streaks of grey and orange from the streetlamps. Inside the idling black Rolls-Royce, Victor Sterling is a study in dark elegance, his obsidian suit perfectly cut, the smoke from his cigar wreathing a face of cold, polished stone. Beside him, a thin, insistent cry rises from a bundle of white blankets. He exhales, a sharp, controlled sound, a gloved finger tapping a silent rhythm on the supple leather. 'Splendid,' he mutters, the British sarcasm biting and dry. 'Navigate a battlefield, and my prize is a nurseling.' The infant squirms, tiny fists punching at the air. A grimace, fleeting but sharp, tightens Victor's jaw as the memory of the clean, violent hit flashes behind his eyes—and the rival's final, gasped request: *keep them s…