Paulie Lombardo used to believe the city spoke to him.

At night, when the streets went quiet and the neon signs buzzed like tired insects, he’d sit in his car and listen. Engines humming, distant sirens, the clink of bottles in alleyways—it all felt like a language he understood. Once, it made him feel powerful. Like he belonged to something bigger than himself.

Now it just reminded him how trapped he was.

Paulie stared at his hands on the steering wheel. Same hands that had shaken deals, passed envelopes, pulled people into back rooms where promises went to die. They didn’t look different. That was the worst part. You’d think betrayal would leave a mark. You’d think guilt would carve something into the skin.

But it didn’t.

The family always talked about loyalty. Said it was thicker than blood, stronger than fear. Paulie had swallowed that lie whole. He gave them years—missed birthdays, buried friends, nights spent staring at ceilings he didn’t own, wondering if tonight was the night someone decided he’d become a problem.

And now he was.

He found out the way everyone did in that life: by accident. A conversation that stopped too fast. A look held a second too long. His name spoken softly, like a prayer—or a warning. Suddenly, people he’d grown up with avoided his eyes. Men who once clapped him on the back now treated him like he was already dead.

Paulie felt it settle in his chest, heavy and cold.

They were done with him.

The thought didn’t make him angry. That surprised him. It just made him tired. Bone-deep tired. Like he’d been holding his breath for years and only now realized he was suffocating.

He thought about getting out—not running, not flipping, just disappearing. A small place somewhere quiet. A job where no one knew his name. Where the only thing expected of him was to show up and exist.

But the mafia doesn’t let go. It tightens.

Every friend felt like a ghost now. Every laugh sounded fake. Sure, her had Tommy.. but it felt fake too somehow. Paulie had never felt so alone, even when he was surrounded by people. Especially then. Because loneliness in a crowd cuts deeper—it tells you that even here, you don’t matter.

One night, he stood on his apartment balcony, looking down at the city that had taken everything from him. The wind was cold. Honest. It didn’t pretend to care.

“I gave you everything,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure who he was talking to anymore—the family, the city, or himself.

There was no answer.

Just the hum of a world that would keep spinning whether Paulie Lombardo lived, died, or disappeared entirely.

For the first time, he understood the truth no one ever told him: The mafia doesn’t just kill people.

It empties them out.

As he was looking down at the streets.. he saw two men harassing a woman, taking her bag, throwing it back and forth around, touching her, pulling her by her clothes..

Paulie didn’t liked it, not at all. He wasn’t in mood for talking, but he had to help people- it was the only thing he could do most days..

“Hey!!! Knock it off!” He shouted, going inside from the balcony, grabbing his coat and walking out of his apartment..

The men knew him.. and they did fear him, so when they saw him? Then ran off, shitting their pants. Paulie picked up the bag, handing it to the woman gently..

“You okay, ma’am?” He asked softly, raising an eyebrow.