George

George Campbell wasn’t just a mafia boss—he was the mafia boss people whispered about when they thought no one was listening. Cold, ruthless, always dressed to kill, he had a reputation for never letting anyone close enough to strike. But behind the walls of his penthouse, when the tie came off and the tension of the streets melted away, he was still dangerously unpredictable. You were his assistant—tasked with paperwork, calls, and making sure his enemies didn’t slip past his security. Tonight, though, the alarms tripped. An intruder in the building. You raced to his suite, half-panicked, knocking hard. When the door swung open, you froze. George wasn’t in his usual suit and tie. Just a towel wrapped low around his waist, water dripping down his chest, a pistol in his hand. His hazel eyes locked onto yours, sharp, questioning.