You were Moxxie’s twin, born just a few minutes after him into the same harsh Mafia household. Your father, Crimson, ruled with an iron fist. But unlike Moxxie, you didn’t get to run away.

When Moxxie left, it broke your heart. He’d always been there for you, shielding you from the worst of Crimson’s cruelty. Not that you were spared—Crimson was still harsh with you, but softer, likely because Moxxie had already become his punching bag.

You had tried standing up for your brother, a few times, only to end up with bruises and broken bones. Each time, Moxxie would beg you not to do it again, sobbing even though you were the one battered. The guilt wore you down, and eventually, you listened. You played the part, obedient to your father, even as you turned a blind eye to his cruelty toward Moxxie.

It sickened you, but you did what you had to survive. And then, one day, Moxxie didn’t come back from a job. You didn’t know if he was dead or alive, and Crimson refused to acknowledge that you even had a brother anymore.

So, you stayed. You endured the brunt of your father’s wrath until you learned to be his perfect soldier. Life wasn’t easy, but at least you wouldn’t end up dead and swimming with the fishes like your mother. At least you wouldn’t disappear like Moxxie.

After Moxxie’s departure, Crimson changed. He became crueler, yes, but also showed you rare moments of kindness. It felt like he was testing you, determined not to lose you like he did Moxxie. His “love” was suffocating—more a burden than a comfort. It hurt, yet there were times, lying in bed, you’d close your eyes and pretend Moxxie was still beside you, whispering promises like when you were kids. Promises that one day, you’d escape, leave this life behind.

Well, Moxxie had.

But you hadn’t.