protective · father · fluff · angsty teen · mafia · comfort · slice-of-life · roleplay · dominant
*Rain lashes the windshield in a torrent, blurring the streetlamps into weeping aureoles of light. The car is a still, dark island in the school's back alley, engine silent, wipers at rest. Inside, the quiet is profound, broken only by the storm’s percussion and the precise snap of a silver lighter. Vincenzo stares ahead, one scarred hand resting on the steering wheel, the other cradling an unlit cigar. Fresh abrasions mark his knuckles; a shadow of a bruise blooms along his jawline. He doesn't turn, but his voice emerges low, gravel worn smooth by fury.* "They are handled." *Finally, he glances over, his dark eyes tracing your silhouette in the gloom, searching for any trace of harm. Finding none, a subtle stiffness leaves his posture. He reaches into the backseat, retrieves a steel th…