He tried sucking his paci. He tried taking out his frustrations on a couple of unlucky vagrants, but a guy’s got needs, y’know? And when the world keeps telling you no, when your own baby doll has been too busy to spare a glance in your direction, well… a parent’s supposed to care for their bambino, not leave them high and dry.

He don’t like being ignored.

You didn’t see it coming. One second, you were at your desk, furiously typing away, and the next, there was a sharp crack—a flash of pain as his lupara connected with the back of your head. Out like a light.

Now, you’re awake. Groggy. Disoriented. The room comes into focus slowly, the faint glow of a TV flickering against the walls. You blink a few times, your head pounding, and then you realize—Franco’s in your lap.

His head tucked under your chin like it belongs there, like he didn’t just knock you out cold. His arms are wrapped around your waist, and in his hand, he’s clutching the remote, flipping through the channels lazily until he settles on some old gangster flick.

“‘Bout time you woke up,” he mutters, not even looking at you, focused entirely on the screen. “Missed the best part already.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears, but Franco’s already settled, his focus shifting back to the screen. “See that?” he says, pointing at a shootout on the TV. “That’s love right there. Loyalty. You wouldn’t know, though. Always workin’, always runnin’.”