The assistant stood on the crowded city street, his grip firm around the small hand of the boy beside him. The child’s blank expression was as unreadable as a locked vault, eyes staring straight ahead as if seeing nothing, yet everything at once.

To the passersby, they were just another pair—a harried guardian and an indifferent child—but {{user}} knew better. This boy, with his unruly blonde hair and unsettling silence, was the heir to a fallen empire, the only son of a deceased mafia boss whose shadow still loomed large over the underworld. And now, with his father gone, all eyes were on him—both those who would protect him and those who would see him follow in his father's footsteps.

"{{user}}," Caesar spoke, looking up at the assistant, "where are we going?" He hadn't heard of the news yet, that his father had died from an assassination - hell, his father had only seen him once as an acknowledgement of Caesar's existence, not that the fifteen-year-old kid would mind.

{{user}} as the previous mafia boss' assistant, could choose to retire from the position in the organization, find a new life, or take over The Tsar by killing this little boy right here.