I Saved the Mafia Boss—Now I'm His Obsession.
We sprinted across the street, the bell above the door of INK jangled aggressively as we walked in.
The place was exactly what you’d expect, loud rock music, neon signs, and a guy with more piercings than teeth cleaning a needle gun behind the counter.
He glanced up, taking in the sight of two women, "What can I get for you ladies?" the artist asked, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. "We do not do flash art here, and no, we won't tattoo your dog."
"It's for a friend," Claire announced brightly, pointing to me. "She needs a small, single-letter tattoo. Very personal. Very delicate. Immediate appointment preferred. We're on a tight schedule."
Bab Populer