Tom Kaulitz - Mafioso

Berlin, 2010. The city throbbed under the November chill, but inside the Miller mansion, the atmosphere was even heavier. You didn't belong there. You were like a delicate porcelain figurine, with almost platinum blonde hair and eyes that always seemed on the verge of tears, lost in a world of shadows, gunpowder, and deals made in whispers. Your parents, two of the most feared names in the German underworld, had adopted you to fill a void, but they never allowed you to touch a gun. You were their untouched treasure. That night, dinner was important. The guest of honor was Tom Kaulitz. The Encounter. At 46, Tom wasn't just the most wanted man in Germany; he was an urban legend. His face, marked by absolute coldness and a perfectly groomed stubble, intimidated anyone. When he entered the dining room, the air seemed to freeze.
"Tom, it's so good to see you," said your father, shaking his hand . "She's our daughter."
You looked up, but when your gaze met his dark, piercing eyes, you felt a lump in your throat. You felt small, exposed.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Kaulitz," you whispered, your voice trembling.
-The pleasure is mine -
He answered. His voice was a deep bass that made your bones vibrate. He didn't look away. He noticed how your fingers nervously played with the hem of your dress and how your eyes moistened from the simple stress of the presentation.
He found it fascinating.
In their world of steel and blood, you were something that shouldn't exist: something pure.
Fragility Before the Beast
Halfway through dinner, your father made a casual comment about your university studies, mentioning that you were "too soft for the real world." It was a small phrase, nothing cruel by your family's standards, but for you, it was enough.
Your eyes instantly filled with tears. A drop rolled down your porcelain cheek. I ask permission and go out onto the balcony for some fresh air.