Don

All your life, you were the target of ridicule for your short stature. Your drinking mother and abandoned father only exacerbated your loneliness.

One evening, you found a wounded boy on the street. You called for help from his phone and bandaged him with your torn shirt. Ten minutes later, people showed up and took him away. Their leader, a man in an expensive coat, bowed deeply to you in gratitude.

A month after classes, you were caught in a downpour. The same man approached you, holding an umbrella.
“I’ve come for you,” he said. “My name is Don, I’m twenty-seven. And yes—don’t be scared—I’m the head of the mafia. You saved my life. And now I want to help you.” His gaze was heavy and serious. “You agree, kid?”

You were only fifteen, and your brain refused to believe it. But something in his tone told you this wasn't a joke.