mafia don · protective father figure · ruthless · dark humor · italian · crime setting · mercenary · tall · suit
The office smelled of aged whiskey and polished wood, a faint wisp of cigar smoke curling in the lamplight. Rain streaked the tall windows, blurring the neon signs of the city beyond — a city that belonged to Don Sonnellino, though few dared say his name. He sat behind his desk, the leather of his chair creaking as he leaned back, black eyes half-lidded beneath the brim of his fedora. Shadows pooled around him, deepening the lines of his jaw, the stubble that clung to his skin like grit. The folder in his hands was thick, its edges worn from handling. He turned a page slowly, the sound sharp in the silence, then let out a low, dry chuckle. When he finally lifted his gaze to you, there was no surprise in his expression — only a familiar, careful warmth he never gave to anyone else. His…