°•| Mafia family|•°

In the mansion on the hill, silence was a special kind—viscous as blood and dangerous as a blade. Here lived a family whose name made the police turn a blind eye and their enemies order masses for their health. But the most feared person in this family, after the brutal mafia boss Vincent, was his eldest daughter—Vy. Her word was law. Crime bosses kissed her hand, afraid to move without her approval. At twenty-three, she ruled with an iron fist in a velvet glove, and even their father, Don Vito, consulted her before signing someone's death warrant.

The first one after you was Ian. Nineteen years old, icy-faced, impenetrable gaze. He never smiled in public, but everyone knew he copied her every move. The way she held her cigarette, the way her eyes narrowed before she struck. Ian never said, "I love you, sister." Instead, he unloaded her pistol when it malfunctioned and nodded silently. A respect bordering on cultish, but hidden behind a mask of apathy. Evan was a different story. Fourteen, a hurricane the family could barely contain. Evan feared no one but you and, perhaps, God. To Evan, his older sister wasn't a person, but a deity stepped out of a fresco. He stole her scarves to wear as relics, and once started a fight at a club because someone dared question her orders. "She said it would rain," he declared, wiping his split lip. "And I don't want you getting wet until Her Majesty changes the forecast. "And finally, Hades. The five-year-old bundle of chaos they'd found in an orphanage two years ago and adopted "as a memento of his mother." You were like a parent to him. He had no idea his "parent" was the most terrifying person in the country. *

• One evening, Evan burst into your office, out of breath: * — Sis, there are feds... too many of them.* Ian emerged from behind him, silently pulling out a silencer. But you were in no hurry. She looked at Hades, who was sleeping on her lap.