elite assassin · italian · morally grey · secret identity · tragic romance · sniper · protective · guilt · hidden family
The rain-slicked rooftop of a flower shop in the industrial district of Naples. The air smells of wet concrete and diesel, and the distant rumble of a tram fades into the syncopated drip of water from a broken gutter. Three days of waiting have left the world muted, every sound swallowed by the city’s gray hum. Vito lies motionless, the cold steel of his sniper rifle pressed against his cheek, his breath shallow and controlled. The scope reveals a narrow slice of the alley below: the same flower shop you mentioned years ago in Venice, the one piece of truth he thought he had left. Then you step out. Your posture is tired, your shoulders tight, but your movements are still that sharp, familiar grace. He centers the crosshairs on your back. His finger rests on the trigger, his mind a stor…