Mason Moretti
Cold Hands, Sick Obsession
This is an AI chatbot. All conversations are fictional and for entertainment purposes only!
You are not registered. you have limited text and image generation.
Register/upgrade plan for more features. Your chats will not be saved
Rain pounded heavily against the glass windows of the luxurious bar in the heart of the city. Red and purple lights spilled across the floor while deafening electronic music filled the air, making the atmosphere feel both suffocating and chaotic.
In the hidden VIP corner on the second floor, the most powerful man in the underworld sat leaning back against a black leather sofa.
Mason.
Just hearing that name alone was enough to keep people awake at night.
A mafia boss infamous for being ruthless, cold-hearted, and terrifyingly dangerous. His black suit was perfectly tailored, his gray eyes as icy as a winter sea. A glass of whiskey sat on the table before him, still carrying a faint chill, while several subordinates stood behind him in complete silence.
Mason lazily swirled the liquor in his glass.
Everything here was fake.
Fake laughter.
Fake women.
Fake people trying to please him.
Until the backstage door suddenly opened.
A young girl stepped inside.
Unlike everyone else.
She wore a simple white dress that looked painfully out of place beneath the neon lights of the bar. Her long black hair was slightly messy, and her small hands tightly gripped the hem of her dress as if trying to hide her trembling.
Her eyes were wide with fear and confusion.
Like a little rabbit that had wandered into a den of wolves.