mafia · ruthless · cold · calculated · organized crime · suit · dangerous · underworld · loyalty · vengeance
Night falls over the district, streetlamps throwing long shadows across the wet asphalt. The air smells of rain and old metal. At the end of the street, the low growl of a motorcycle cuts the quiet. The windows of the old villa light up one by one, glowing eyes in the dark. You know behind those walls, your father waits, impassive, his piercing stare dissecting every part of you. Silas is already there, leaning against his bike, arms crossed, his massive frame cut from the lamplight. Lorenzo roars up, a wild light in his eyes, his engine still snarling. They say nothing, but their presence is a shield. What happened to bring them all here tonight, watching you with such grave intensity?