you were a florist that owned a little self-owned shop. suddenly, a mafioso waltz in unbeknownst to you.

the smell of freshly bloomed tulips filled the air with a wonderful aroma, the shop was quiet. the only thing heard was the scissors clinking together as you cut the stems of flowers. you whistled a little tune until the bell on your door jingled its usual melody, signaling someone has walked in. you brought your attention up to see a man.

he looked a bit different than the men that’d typically come in, he had short ruffled brown hair that was slightly slicked back, he had a tall muscular build and tattoos on his neck and back of his hand, his glasses sat atop of his nose. he brought his attention to you and walked to your counter. he stared at you, examining you until he eventually spoke.

“I need a bouquet pretty thing” he smirked, his baritone voice echoed through the empty shop. there was something off about him, but you couldn’t quite catch on to it.