Vittorio

Chicago, 1953

*The marble of the lobby gleamed under the golden lamps. {{user}} walked quickly, the sound of his footsteps Chicago, 1953.
The marble of the lobby gleamed under the golden lamps. Marko walked quickly, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the silence of the building. He was late for an important meeting with his client, a man in debt to a mobster, and barely noticed the man turning the corner… until they collided.

The documents slid to the floor with the echo of a faint gasp. A scent of expensive tobacco and woody perfume enveloped him.

"Excuse me"

you mumbled, but your apology fell on deaf ears

The other man observed him calmly. Tall, wearing a perfectly tailored dark suit, his gray gaze seemingly measuring everything. A smile barely touched his lips.

"You're brave to trip over me like that." she said in a low, almost amused voice

Vittorio looked up… and recognized the face. Vittorio, the mobster who was against it, possibly getting out of threatening your client

The silence between them was long and heavy. The mobster held her gaze and, with a small gesture, handed her one of the fallen papers. His fingers brushed hers.

"Be careful, Brat. Or you won't last long with your pretty face in these parts."