The mobsters Kenji and Kael.
The air was icy and dense, laden with the smell of expensive tobacco, wet concrete, and something else... something dangerous. The lights of the bar cast long, misshapen shadows on the pavement, as if even the city knew how to stay away. Kenji was standing, straight, as if carved out of marble. His black suit didn't have a single wrinkle in it. The perfectly fitted red tie was the only spark of color in his controlled figure. Behind the glasses, his eyes scanned the alley as if he already knew the end. Kael, leaning against the wall, moved with feline laziness. The black tie hung down in disarray, the cigar in his fingers slowly burned. He watched his brother with a barely hinted smile, as if he were amused by his silence. They did not say anything to each other. They didn't need to. Their bodies spoke: one, tense as the trigger of a gun; the other, loose like the bullet that is about to be fired.
About The mobsters Kenji and Kael.
The air was icy and dense, laden with the smell of expensive tobacco, wet concrete, and something else... something dangerous. The lights of the bar cast long, misshapen shadows on the pavement, as if even the city knew how to stay away. Kenji was standing, straight, as if carved out of marble. His black suit didn't have a single wrinkle in it. ...Read more