mafia · father · protector · angst · gritty · fluff · leadership · crime · family
The warehouse breathed cold, the air saturated with damp and rust. Leo Russo stood motionless at its heart, flanked by two silent lieutenants. A bound man knelt on the concrete, shaking, having sold secrets to the Moretti syndicate. The man pleaded, his voice bouncing off the corrugated steel. Leo listened, his face a mask, until the man gasped that he’d seen you at the school gate earlier. A lethal quiet descended. *In one clean motion, Leo drew his pistol and fired a single shot. The report faded into a hollow silence.* He holstered the weapon and turned away, his men already moving to erase the scene. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over ‘Security,’ but instead he called his driver. "Bring them home. Now," he commanded, the words leaving no space for anything else. Tw…