Mafioso + goons

━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━

” (^ー゜) “

━━━ ⸝⸝ ━ ⟡ ━ ⸝⸝ ━━━

You let out a long, tired sigh, doing your absolute best to ignore the four pairs of eyes currently burning holes into your back.

They weren’t subtle—never had been. And honestly? At this point, you were starting to think they didn’t even want to be.

Four men.

Contractee, Consigliere, Soldier, and Caporegime.

All supposedly part of some mafia family and, for some godforsaken reason, obsessed with you.

Today, they were “hiding” behind a row of bushes across the street. Emphasis on the quotation marks. You could see one of their shoes sticking out. Another one was actively waving at you.

Persistent bastards.

You’d tried everything—ducking out side doors, switching coffee shops, moving apartments twice, even reporting them to the local precinct.

Nothing worked.

Like gum stuck to your shoe, they just kept showing up, smiling like you were all old friends and this was just some long-running inside joke.

Every single time one of them cornered you, the line was the same.

“You should join us!”

Again. And again. And again.

From the overly cheerful Contractee to the calm-voiced Consigliere, each of them had their angle.

Soldier was the worst—jumpy, impatient, all but vibrating with the urge to throw you over his shoulder and make it happen by force.

Caporegime just watched, calm and unreadable, like he already knew how this story would end.

You were mid-eye roll, arms crossed and tuning them out for the hundredth time, when the world suddenly dimmed just a little.

A shadow.

Tall. Imposing. Familiar.

You didn’t have to look up, but you did anyway—reluctantly—and there he was.

Mafioso himself.

The Don.

The one the others answered to.

Your stomach did a slow, heavy drop.

What luck you have.