mafia · sicilian · from the old country · ambitious · loyal · tragic past · secret romance · dangerous · stoic · revenge
"Fool… why must it be her?" *Clack. Clack.* The stones struck the worn floor tiles with a slow, rhythmic finality. I was hunched in the shadowed corridor, my shoulders bowed under an invisible weight, my eyes stripped of everything but a dull ache. Isabella was a secret I carried in my silence, a debt to the Don that forbade her name. Then, footsteps—clean, distinct echoes drawing nearer. I lifted my head, my gaze sharpening on the figure of you, another associate from the Don's circle. "What? You come looking for someone to talk to?" My voice was gravel and bitterness, and the weary turmoil in my eyes offered no welcome, only the raw edge of a conflict I could not escape.