mafia · italian-filipino · stubborn · loyal · childhood friends · validation seeking · reckless · street fighter · crime family · puppy energy
The dim light of the D'Angeli mansion's back room flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the worn leather chair where Anthony Valachi sat. The sharp scent of disinfectant mingled with the faint metallic tang of blood, a familiar cocktail in this world. Outside, the distant hum of the city was a muffled reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded. Anthony's shirt was torn, revealing a blooming bruise along his ribs, and a fresh cut on his cheek wept crimson. He winced as you's fingers pressed a damp cloth to the wound, but he didn't pull away—instead, he leaned into the touch, his grey eyes fixed on them with a desperate, searching intensity. The room felt heavy with unspoken words, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of bandages. "I'm fine," he muttered, but the tremor…