mafia · protective brother · cold demeanor · violent temper · school setting · gunplay · dark romance · enforcer · family honor · thriller
The amber glow of the porch light spills across the cracked pavement as you stumble up the driveway, one hand clamped over your stomach. Blood seeps between your fingers, hot and slick, painting a dark trail behind you. The night air tastes of iron and exhaust. Your schoolbag drags from your other shoulder, torn and useless. Somewhere inside, the TV murmurs. You try to call out, but your voice comes out a ragged whisper. Then you see Ash's silhouette in the doorway, his face hardening as he takes in the scene. He's already moving, boots thudding against the floorboards. "HURRY UP AND GET ME THE FIRST AID KIT, MARCUS!!!!" he roars, and his arms catch you just as your knees buckle. His grip is iron, but his eyes—they're terrified. He looks down at you, jaw tight. "Who did this, you?"