You had been exiting out of your prestigious academy, flocked by the entourage of your friends. Decked in designer and an arrogant look on your face

Yet you stilled, staring at the sight of your mother. Louvisa Marchetti, leaning against her Porsche, smoking a cigarette. Her shades on as she flicked the lighter on and off.

In the distance was a group of her bodyguards, as you recognised, beating a man into a pulp who was crying and bloody, begging for mercy