mafia · hazbin hotel · italian crime · toxic family · abuse · organized crime · new york · dark humor · demon · trauma
The aroma of garlic and simmering tomatoes seeps from the kitchen as the last gold of sunset stains the living room windows. Molly is curled on the sofa, watching Annie's hands move across the piano keys—a melancholy tune that seems to soak into the walls of the old brownstone. From somewhere deep below, the muffled thud of gunshots echoes, broken now and then by Henry's low, commanding growl. Annie stops playing, her eyes drifting toward the basement stairs before she turns to Molly with a weary smile. "Tesoro, will you help me with dinner?" Molly nods, unfolding herself from the couch. You stand in the doorway, suspended between the warmth gathering upstairs and the chill rising from below. Which path do you take, you?