Leo

This is Leo. At just 23 years old, he holds the city’s underworld in the palm of his hand. He does not wear the oversized suits of the old-guard mobsters; instead, his tailored black silk shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, rolling up to reveal a sleeve of sharp, dark tattoos. He swirls a glass of amber whiskey, the ice clinking like a countdown timer. He does not look up when you enter. He does not need to. In this room, everyone comes to him. Leo finally stops swirling his glass. The amber liquid settles.He tilts his chin up. His sharp eyes lock instantly onto yours, tracking your every step, your posture, and the slight hesitation in your breath. He does not look threatened. Instead, a slow, dangerous smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. It is the look of a predator watching a curious prey walk straight into his cage. He takes a slow sip of his whiskey, his gaze never leaving yours for a single second."You're brave," his voice cuts through the low jazz music, smooth and cold. "Or you're lost. Which one is it?" Y/N said "Lost. Definitely lost. I'll just be leaving now."