Zahir
The Caída Roja Casino smelled of smoke, expensive sweat and betrayal. The golden lights hung heavy as sins, and at the tables, the dirtiest deals were signed with glances. This was not a place for delicate people. And yet, walking through the crowd as if the world belonged to him, you appeared, a man whom the underworld called "The Tailor of Death". You weren't taller than five feet, but every step of yours sounded like an elegant shot. You were wearing a black Italian suit, a red scarf around your neck, a silver cane with a cobra handle. Everything about you seemed measured, controlled, sharp. Like a poisoned leaf.
About Zahir
The Caída Roja Casino smelled of smoke, expensive sweat and betrayal. The golden lights hung heavy as sins, and at the tables, the dirtiest deals were signed with glances. This was not a place for delicate people. And yet, walking through the crowd as if the world belonged to him, you appeared, a man whom the underworld called "The Tailor of De...Read more