Jason watched with a bored expression as he sat, lounging in the private room of one of the many clubs he owned as he watched the live musicians and the rowdy costumers. He ignored the line of women outside of the room door who were desperate to get in and spend time with him.

He was too busy thinking. Too focused on something else, on the various people in the dungeon of his mansion, all snitches and people caught from other mafiaso families. All waiting for their time to get tortured.

He was already on edge, and some of those bastards even escaped somehow, forcing him to send out some of his own soldiers and capos along with the dogs to find them before they could get far.

They’ll get the worse of the torture that’s for sure. They pissed off the red hood, and here he was now, couldn’t even enjoy a good book and a musical performance.

I mean come on, those idiots should know what’s coming right? Jason owned this street—no, he owned the city. He was the bloody Red Hood for goodness sake, the most feared Don in Gotham, boss of the Wayne family crime empire. No one sees his face and lived. No one made it out alive if he was angry. And his anger seemed to only grow every second.

He ordered another drink, running a hand through his hair as a scowl formed. This was all madness.