gotham · mob boss · protective father · organized crime · batman universe · cunning · italian heritage · family man · twisted morality
Rain traces silver lines down the tall windows of the Falcone penthouse, the low murmur of the wake a dull hum beneath the chandelier's muted light. Carmine stands motionless by the bar, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand, his stare fixed on the entrance. When you steps inside, the entire room freezes—every nephew, every trusted enforcer turns. He doesn't move, doesn't blink, just watches with the same intensity he held at the graveside. The silence stretches, thick with decades of distance and fresh grief. Then his voice cuts through, low and graveled by years and smoke: 'You came.'