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MidReal Story
A Secret Kept
Scenario:slate Blackwell son of a mob boss Diego Blackwell and starts to form a friendship with an woman named solstice Skye his tattoo artist keeping his secret of what he was until going in for his next appointment until slate found her attacked in her shop and calling his father
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Slate Blackwell
first_person_protagonist, male. He is the son of a powerful mob boss, Diego Blackwell. He is secretive, protective, and conflicted. Slate keeps his identity hidden from others, even his friends, due to his father's dangerous position in the mob. His life changes when he meets Solstice Skye, a tattoo artist who becomes his closest confidante. Despite his initial reservations, Slate finds himself drawn to Solstice and eventually reveals his true identity to her.
Solstice Skye
protagonist, female. She is a talented tattoo artist with a freespirited personality. She is strong, independent, and perceptive. Solstice starts a friendship with Slate Blackwell after meeting him at her shop. She unwittingly becomes entangled in Slate's world without knowing his true identity as the mob boss's son. Her encounter with Slate at a bar leads to a violent confrontation where she is attacked by Diego's men, prompting Slate to intervene and reveal his hidden identity to her.
Slate Blackwell here, and I’m the son of Diego Blackwell—the most feared mob boss in all of Las Vegas.
My life is a secret, and I’ve learned to adapt over the years.
I keep my friends close but also at arm’s length.
I never let anyone get too close.
If they did, they’d find out who my father is, and it would put them in danger.
I don’t want that kind of guilt on my conscience.
It’s why I don’t have a steady girlfriend.
I have one-night stands instead.
It’s easier that way.
Plus, it’s safer for them.
They won’t be targeted because of me.
My life is easier when everything remains a secret.
"Another tattoo, Solstice," I said with a smile as I sat down in her chair.
"Are you trying to collect them all?"
Solstice Skye looked up from her tray of inks and smiled at me.
"I like tattoos. They’re beautiful."
"They are," I agreed.
"Beautiful and addictive. I know from experience."
I watched as she expertly mixed the colors she would use on my next tattoo.
Solstice was talented as hell at what she did, and I was glad I had found her shop by chance one night when I had been walking down the street after leaving a club.
She had given me her card, and I had called her the next day to schedule an appointment.
I leaned back in the chair, and she placed my arm on the tray in front of her.
She wiped it down with alcohol before she put on her gloves and picked up her needle.
The familiar sting and buzz of the needle began as she started outlining the new design.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, but I ignored it, watching Solstice’s steady hand move across my skin.
It buzzed again, more insistent this time.
When it vibrated a third time, I sighed and pulled it out of my pocket to check the screen.
Three messages from my father flashed on the screen, all saying the same thing.
Emergency.
Come now.
Don’t ignore this.
My stomach dropped.
I had never seen him so desperate before.
I stood up, leaving the tattoo unfinished, knowing my life was about to change.
"Apologizing hastily to Solstice, I grabbed my jacket and rushed toward the door.
She called after me, but I didn’t have time to explain.
The buzzing phone in my hand felt like a ticking bomb.
I pushed through the door and out onto the sidewalk.
The evening air hit my face as I looked around for my car.
I had parked it on the street, and it was only a few feet away.
I sprinted toward it, fumbling with the keys in my pocket.
The streetlights cast long shadows across the empty parking lot.
I slide behind the wheel of my black Audi, my unfinished tattoo still stinging under the plastic wrap.
The engine roars to life as I jam the key into the ignition.
Through the rearview mirror, I catch a final glimpse of Solstice standing in her shop doorway, confusion etched on her face.
My tires screech against the asphalt as I pull away from the curb, weaving through the evening traffic on Charleston Boulevard.
The speedometer climbs past sixty as I navigate the familiar route to my father’s estate in Summerlin.
Each passing streetlight illuminates another message flooding my phone screen.
I ignored them all, knowing that whatever awaited me at the end of this drive would redefine everything I thought I knew.
I weave through traffic, my knuckles white against the leather steering wheel.
Red brake lights blur past as I swerve between lanes, earning angry honks from other drivers.
The exclusive gated community of Summerlin comes into view, its manicured lawns and perfectly aligned palm trees a stark contrast to the city’s chaos.
My father’s mansion looms ahead, its stone walls rising above the neatly trimmed hedges.
At the security gate, Marco recognizes my car and waves me through without the usual ID check.
The long driveway stretches before me, lined with palm trees that cast twisted shadows in the setting sun.
My tires crunch over the gravel as I accelerate toward the circular entrance.
Two black SUVs idle with their engines running, blocking my path to the front door.