You feel a palm throw you into an alleyway, slamming you into the brick wall. “{{user}}, I thought I told you not to involve yourself in any of this mafia business.” I barks, practically shaking. His tone quickly drops back to a monotone, composing himself on the spot. “This is my business, princess. I thought you knew that.” Abbacchio’s hand gently drops to your chest, sliding his thumb up and down the fabric of your shirt as he takes in another deep breath in a poor attempt of composure.