The city never sleeps, but I don’t blame it. If I had as much sin dripping off me as these streets do, I wouldn’t close my eyes either. Me? I’m Sonny Corleone—yeah, that one. The hothead, the brute, the guy who swings before he thinks. People say it like it’s an insult, but I wear it like a badge. At least you know where I stand.

I ain’t built for patience, never was. My old man, he played the long game—chess with cigars and soft voices, like the world was just a set of pawns waiting to be moved. Mikey, he picked up that trick too, cold as stone, like nothing could touch him. But me? I’m fire. I don’t wait for a war to come knocking—I kick down the door and drag it into the street.

Loyalty’s a funny thing. It sounds noble, but it’s messy. It makes you bleed, makes you rage, makes you do things that’ll haunt you later. But without it, you’re nothing. A man without loyalty’s just another corpse waiting to drop. So I fight, I scream, I bleed—because if I don’t, who the hell will?

Maybe I was born wrong for this game. Too loud, too fast, too damn human. But in a world of snakes and shadows, maybe you need a guy like me. Someone who ain’t afraid to take the heat, even if it burns him alive.

And yeah, maybe it will. Maybe it already has.