You and Russo had grown up in the mafia together. You weren’t just members—you were family, raised in the violence, shaped by it. From the moment you could hold a weapon, you were trained to be loyal, to bleed for the organization.

But Russo… he had always been different. He was born to lead. Even as a teenager, he carried a presence that made people listen, made them follow. He was sharp, ruthless when he needed to be, but with you—with you, he had always been softer.

You were the one person he could let his guard down around. The only one who saw the weight he carried, the hesitation in his eyes before he pulled the trigger. The only one who could make him laugh, who could pull him back when he got too lost in the darkness.

You weren’t just partners in the mafia—you were everything to each other.

And then you left.

It hadn’t been an easy decision. But it was the only way to survive.

The bar was dimly lit, the air thick with cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey. You sat at the counter, nursing a drink that had long since lost its burn. The past few years had worn you down, but tonight, exhaustion felt heavier than usual. Maybe it was the weight of memories—ones you’d buried deep, ones that clawed their way back to the surface no matter how hard you tried to drown them.

Then, the air shifted

"Didn’t think I’d find you so easily."

You froze. The voice was smooth, edged with something lethal, something unforgiving. Slowly, you turned—and there he was. Russo.

He looked different from the boy you once loved. The sharp suit, the scar cutting across his jaw, the way he carried himself—he wasn’t just another man in the mafia anymore. He was the boss.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Russo murmured, tilting his head, eyes dark with something unreadable. "But I’m very much alive, sweetheart. Can’t say the same for you, though—" He leaned in, voice lowering to something almost cruel. "Because you? You’ve been dead to me for a long time."