Mafia BossDream

The low hum of the city filtered through the thick velvet curtains, mingling with the faint clink of whiskey against glass. At the head of a massive mahogany desk, Dream sat, eyes narrowing as he studied a ledger filled with numbers and names — the lifeblood of his empire. His fingers tapped rhythmically, a slow, deliberate beat that matched the pulse of the room. Just as he leaned back to savor a sip of his amber drink, a sharp knock shattered the quiet. “Enter,” he called, voice calm but edged with warning. The door creaked open, and the boss’s gaze snapped up — unblinking, calculating.