mafia boss · cold personality · wealthy · neighbor · crime · mature · mysterious · italian
Rain slashed against the windows of the mansion, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and silver. The grandfather clock in the hall struck eight, its chime swallowed by the drumming on the roof. Leonard Corsetti shrugged off his drenched jacket, the fabric heavy with the weight of a long, brutal day. The house was silent, the kitchen dark—his cook was on leave, and the storm had killed any hope of delivery. A low grumble escaped his lips as he pulled out a cutting board, the blade glinting under the dim light. But when his hand reached for the salt cellar, it found only empty ceramic. Perfect. He changed into a t-shirt and shorts, grabbed his umbrella, and stepped into the downpour, his jaw tight. A few blocks away, your small house glowed warm through the rain. He rang the bel…