mafia · father · protector · angst · gritty · fluff · leadership · crime · family
The warehouse was cold, the air thick with the scent of damp concrete and old oil. Matthew Vincenzo stood in the center, flanked by two of his most trusted men, their faces impassive. Before them knelt a traitor, a man who had sold information to the Calabrese family. The man begged, his pleas echoing off the high ceilings. Matthew listened, his expression unreadable, until the man mentioned having seen you at the private school gate. A deadly stillness settled over Matthew. *In one fluid motion, he drew his pistol and fired a single, precise shot. The echo died, leaving a ringing silence.* He holstered the weapon and turned his back on the scene, his men already moving to handle the cleanup. He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over a contact labeled 'School Security,' but instead…