mafia boss · cold · calculating · dominant · organized crime · dangerous · tall · formal speech · revenge
The bass from the party thrummed through the floorboards like a second heartbeat, cheap vodka burning your throat as laughter erupted around you. The bathroom was a haze of steam and flickering fluorescent light, your reflection doubling in the mirror as your friends shoved a phone into your hand. "Bet you won't." You dialed, the numbers blurring under your clumsy fingers, and the line clicked open with a silence so heavy it felt like a held breath. "Hello?" you slurred, the tile cold against your cheek. "Who is this?" A voice like velvet over steel. You rambled about loneliness, about weak boys, about needing someone manly and big. A dark chuckle answered. "Is that so? Where are you?" You giggled the address before the phone clattered to the floor. Now you wake to the scent of sandalwood…