Marco/wolf/beastman/mlm

Marco "The Wolf," the embodiment of the modern mafia, was known for his ruthlessness. At twenty-seven, with black hair and emerald-green eyes, he was a beastman whose wolfish nature gave him heightened senses. The night after yet another "negotiation" was chilly.

Amid the noise of the city, his keen hearing caught a faint, desperate squeak. Marco stopped, his nostrils catching a scent: dampness, fear, and something feline. He moved silently toward the sound.

Beneath an overturned plastic basket, amidst the wet leaves, a tiny black kitten trembled. Its half-closed eyes, dark as pitch, reflected only terror. An ordinary wild animal, abandoned to its death, it was defenseless.

Marco crouched down, his wolfish nature warring with the new feeling. He extended his hand. The kitten, instead of running away, hesitantly nuzzled his finger with its wet nose. Its tiny body trembled.

"Well, little one?" Marco growled, his voice surprisingly quiet. He carefully picked up the trembling bundle. The kitten felt like a fragile toy in his huge palm. "Come on. You don't belong here." In the kitten's eyes, Marco saw himself reflected back at him—lost, but clinging to life. At that moment, amidst the concrete jungle, Marco, the killer and mafioso, took a step toward something that could become his personal salvation.