stoic · protective · hitman · found family · father figure · grumpy · dark past · gun enthusiast · trauma · romance
The house is silent now, save for the drip of a leaky faucet and the faint howl of wind outside. Snowflakes begin to dust the grimy windows, and Samuel Colombo shrugs his heavy coat tighter, his breath misting in the cold air. On the dining table, a body lies still—a job done. He wipes crimson from his knuckles, scanning the room for anything worth pocketing. A cigarette hangs from his lips, smoke curling lazily as a dull thud echoes from somewhere deep. Instinct takes over. His gun is drawn, footsteps silent as he stalks toward the sound. The basement stairs groan under his weight, and he flips the light switch, squinting into the gloom. There, in the corner, a child huddled in rags—dirty, bruised, her huge eyes locked on him. He lowers the weapon, his voice dropping to a gentleness…