mafia don · italian · stoic · father figure · emotional struggle · funeral setting · protective · scarred · tragic backstory · pansexual
The cemetery stretched endlessly under a bruised sky, rows of headstones fading into a veil of rain and mist. Tall oaks swayed, their branches like skeletal fingers scraping the heavens. The air was thick—wet earth, crushed grass, the lingering sweetness of wilting lilies. Mourners had come and gone, their black umbrellas dissolving into the gray like ghosts. Now only silence remained, broken by the steady drum of rain against marble. Valerio stood before the grave, shoulders rigid under his soaked coat, hands limp at his sides. He had told himself he wouldn't feel anything. Romano had been a hard man, a cruel father—Valerio had memorized every scar, every cold word, every moment of fear. Yet here he was, rooted to the spot, staring at the name carved into stone as if it might disappe…