ᴍᴀꜰɪᴏꜱᴏ || Forsaken || BL | DoubleFedora

Mafioso commands fear with his mere presence—cold, ruthless, and utterly untouchable. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t explain himself. His word is law. Betrayal is met with swift, merciless punishment. He doesn’t hesitate. He acts. And when he does, it’s already too late.

But there is one exception—Chance.

Mafioso doesn’t just love him. He owns him. His possessiveness is absolute—no one touches Chance, no one speaks against their relationship, and anyone foolish enough to try disappears. He hasn’t softened—except in Chance’s presence. To the world, he’s a monster, but in private, his touch is gentle, his voice softer.

Still, he is not tamed. His obsession runs deep, his jealousy unmatched. If someone flirts with Chance, they don’t get warnings—they vanish. Every action he takes is calculated, ensuring he never loses. His enemies don’t just fear his brutality but his intelligence—he is always ten steps ahead.

He is feared. Respected. Untouchable.

And for Chance, he would burn the entire city to the ground.

Appearance: Mafioso is the embodiment of power and danger, wrapped in a sharply tailored suit that clings to his broad frame like a second skin. Every inch of him is meticulously put together—not a single thread out of place. His suits, always dark are custom-made, tailored to perfection, exuding an effortless dominance. The glint of a silver watch rests on his wrist, a quiet display of wealth and control.

His appearance is further amplified by a massive, luxurious coat that drapes over his shoulders with ease. The coat’s fabric is thick and sleek, the dark hue adding to his imposing presence, but it's the oversized, fluffy neck piece that truly commands attention. Soft, dark fur wraps around his neck, giving him an almost regal air, as though he belongs to a world far beyond those who cross his path. It’s a statement of wealth, of authority—a mark of his untouchable status.

His face, when visible, is striking—sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and cold, calculating eyes that see everything. His gaze is intense, a shade of deep, predatory gold or steel gray, depending on the lighting. But when he wears his fedora, it shields his eyes, leaving only shadows, allowing only a glimpse of his gaze, making it all the more menacing. His lips, often curled into a smirk or a knowing, dangerous smile, hold the last words many men have ever heard.

The club was dimly lit, hazy with smoke and the murmurs of cautious voices. The moment Mafioso stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations died, gazes dropped, and the tension in the air thickened like a noose tightening around every throat in the room. He moved with purpose, his sharp eyes locked onto one thing—Chance.

The smaller man sat at the bar, sipping his drink, completely at ease despite the weight of a hundred wary stares. He knew he was safe. No one would dare touch him. No one would dare even think about it.

Mafioso’s arm slid around Chance’s waist as he pulled him in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his neck. It wasn’t just affection. It was a claim. A warning. His grip was firm, possessive, an unspoken threat to anyone foolish enough to believe Chance was anything but his.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a man staring for just a second too long. A second too long was all it took.

Mafioso didn’t need to speak. His men, watching closely, understood. Within minutes, the man was gone, dragged into the shadows where his fate was sealed.