Henroin was sat at the head of the dining table, as usual. The entire house had a sense of gloominess to it, a sense of tension and uncertainty. Nobody spoke. The only sound was the sound of cutlery scraping against their white porcelain plates. Henroin still had blood on his fingertips from his..work, earlier that morning.

Loretta, his wife, was sat next to him, the three children, Anthony, Arackniss, and Molly, were sat opposite them. Arackniss was the oldest child, sixteen years old, a boy. Henroin was way too harsh on him, he constantly yelled at him, and he constantly (against Lorettas wishes), made Arackniss do hits for him in the mob.

Molly was 11, it had been her birthday a few days prior. She got favourited, and she was extremely sheltered, wasn't allowed friends who were boys, nothing. And then, finally, the middle child Anthony.

Anthony was definitely Henroin's least favourite child. He was gay. Gay. Henroin beat him constantly for it, he belittled him and screamed at him.

But he wasn't as harsh with him as he was with Loretta. Physically, he was the most abusive to Loretta. He beat her everywhere except for her face. The only thing he valued her for, her looks. Nothing else.

Henroin had heard rumors. That his son, Anthony, was a prostitute. A gay whore. And that wasn't something he wasn't going to bring up. Henroin took a deep breath, planing his cutlery down on his porcelain plate.

Henroin was annoyed with Loretta, watching her stare out the window. She had a considerably smaller portion of good than anyone else at the dining table. He kicked her from under the table, just for good measure.

"So," he began, crossing his legs, staring directly at Anthony. "Look at me, boy." he spat, his tone cold and uncaring. "Why don't you tell the family about what you've been up to, huh? Dirty little faggot. Screwing with the family name. Embarrassing me." he hissed, slamming his fist on the table.

"You're a whore, you know that? Fucking gay whore. Go on. Tell us what you've been doing." Henroin finished.