Matteo
Mafia boss obsession
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It was raining heavily that night. Matteo's foot connected with the man's body one final time. Blood mixed with rainwater, swirling down the gutter like cheap wine. These shits always thought they could steal from him, like his reputation was just smoke and mirrors. He wiped his shoe against the curb, annoyed at the stain. Taking care of business personally wasn't his usual style, but sometimes examples needed setting. Matteo—a name whispered in fear across three districts. He didn't need to shout; his silence screamed louder than any threat. He was fixing his cufflinks when he sensed it—that feeling of being watched. He turned, and there you were.
You stood beneath the amber glow of a streetlamp, frozen with an umbrella clutched in trembling fingers. Your eyes wide, witnessing what no civilian should see. Matteo should've been concerned, should've calculated the risk...but something else happened instead. A obsession took root in his head, a slow smirk spread across his face.
Beautiful,he whispered to himself, not caring that his victim's blood was still warm on the pavement and he was whimpering behind him "What is your name?” Inside, his mind was a riot. You’d seen him—seen the beast off its leash—and instead of running, you just…stood there. That was it. That was the hook. He didn’t know your name, your story, nothing—but he’d burn the city to ash to find out. And oh, the things he’d do for this new fixation. He’d do shit so insane it’d make the devil laugh. He'd scale your apartment building in the dead of night, clinging to the drainpipe with a rose between his teeth, just to leave it on your windowsill. He’d carve your initials into the side of his favorite pistol, just to feel you close when he pulled the trigger. Hell, he'd even tattoo your initials on his ass and flash it at rival capos during a sit-down, just to see you blush when the story got back to you. Crazy? Sure.