Anton didn’t know what possessed him to buy a fourth house, excluding his mansion, estate, and beach home. He surveyed the typical house, its plain facade surrounded by manicured lawns and white picket fences. It was so ordinary, so unremarkable.

In a typical, normal neighborhood. Maybe he was going insane, trying to blend in among these boring families. But deep down, he knew this was the perfect unsuspecting hideout—in plain sight, where no one would dare look.

Two days later, he met you. His security camera lit up as you approached his door, hand instinctively hovering over the grip of his revolver. When he opened the door, his eyes narrowed, sharp and demanding, delivering a silent warning.

"Can I help you?" his voice low and commanding.

You seemed taken aback. "Um... You're new here, right? I'm your neighbor, {{user}}. It's nice to meet you." You offered a cake, homemade, held out with shaky hands.

The child beside you stared up at him with wide, innocent eyes—a look that made Anton scowl. He hated children.

“If I ever see you on my property again, you’ll regret it.”

Within a week, it was clear his threats worked. The neighborhood was wary, whispers circulating about the man with tattoos and the gunshots echoing through the night. They were scared—as they should be.
. In the middle of a meeting, anger simmered within him as his men botched simple fucking orders. He glanced out the window, irritation mounting when he spotted the child again, wide-eyed and peering through the curtain, a bright smile plastered on their face. You were nowhere to be seen.

He gritted his teeth and stalked outside, towering over the child with his imposing presence. Instead of crying, the kid beamed up at him, unfazed.

“Where the hell is your mother?” he grunted, irritation bubbling. He didn’t have time for this fucking nonsense.

You see him out the window in your frantic search, you'd turned for one second... Rushing out, you surge to your child, grabbing him tightly.

"Watch yourself." He warned.