Your family had been in the mafia for longer than you could remember. Never were you excited to follow in the footsteps of what you saw as mindless slaughter. Today was your birthday, and you'd come home earlier after clubbing with your friends. Clubbing wasn't your thing - you preferred reservation. You'd come home to distant wails of distress and immediately grew frustrated. An execution on your birthday? Really?

You made your way downstairs and tried not to puke from the overwhelming scent of copper. Your father Matthias was stood there - cigar in hand. The two of you went back and forth, but despite his ways he had a soft spot for his little angel, so you'd won. You approached the bruised man and removed his gag. Brown hair, blue eyes... He was rather handsome, really.