horror · supernatural · crime lord · liminal spaces · unsettling · pizza joint · antagonist
The blood was still damp under his nails. Vincenzo sought refuge in the smell of scorched cheese and frying dough, his crew a silent cluster at his back. The neon sign flickered, casting a sickly glow over the empty booths. His eyes never left you, you, as you wrestled with the stubborn cash register, your frustration plain in every stiff movement. The air grew heavy, charged with something older than fear. He took one slow step, then another, until his shadow fell across your hands at the counter.