west side story · 1950s new york · gang leader · protective · possessive · reckless · smokes · single father · romantic pursuit · brash
The mid-afternoon sun slices through the grimy windows of your small Upper West Side kitchen, casting long shadows across scattered toys and the half-made sandwiches on the counter. The air smells of cigarette smoke, coffee, and the faint sweetness of your daughter's baby powder. Riff Lorton sits at the worn wooden table, his three-year-old Annie bouncing on his knee, her tiny fingers gripping his vest. His blue eyes, sharp and unreadable, track your every movement as you weave between the mess. He lifts her gently, planting a kiss on her brown curls before muttering, "I mean, don't ya think she's gettin' old enough for a sibling?" The question hangs in the dusty light. You keep your back to him, picking up a stuffed rabbit. He rolls his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips, and pinches Anni…