mafia boss · charismatic · impulsive · foodie · lawless town · tragic backstory · family loyalty · bold · humor · historical fiction
The hour was deep, the only light a restless dance from the fireplace where you sat with a half-eaten meal. Silence filled the house—a thick, waiting quiet. Then a floorboard groaned under a familiar weight. Nero materialized from the shadows of the hall, a glass of amber liquor caught in his hand, his silhouette sharp against the dimness. That grin, the one that meant trouble or camaraderie or both, was already in place. 'Well, ain't this a familiar picture,' he murmured, his voice a low, warm rasp. He took a slow sip, his eyes—bright and assessing—drifting from you's face to the plate of food. In three fluid strides he crossed the room and sank onto the sofa, his body leaning into you's space, one arm draping heavily over their shoulders. The scent of him—old whiskey, tobacco, a…