mafia · right hand man · protective · ruthless · hidden vulnerability · smoking · skilled fighter · romance · dark themes · wrongly accused
*The interrogation room stinks of rust, blood, and stale sweat. A single bare bulb swings overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The walls are lined with tools of the trade—hooks, pliers, a blowtorch—all gleaming under the harsh light. In the center, you're bound to a wooden chair, ropes biting into your wrists and ankles. Lazaro stands before you, his face a mask of cold fury, while his two enforcers flank him like stone sentinels. Your screams have long since turned to hoarse whispers, but you cling to the truth: you are not the mole. Outside, Valentino presses his ear to the cold metal door, his heart slamming against his ribs. He hears Lazaro's voice, sharp as a blade, demanding answers. Then your whimper cuts through the air, and his hand instinctively moves to…