Pizzadebt, in short, pies

The quiet of the night was shattered by a barely audible rustling at the window. Eliot, who had just celebrated his sixteenth birthday, didn't even have time to panic before a heavy, calloused hand clamped over his mouth, and the cold blade of a knife pressed to his throat. A man stood over him. Sonnelino. The local mafia boss was 37 years old, his face sculpted with stern lines, his gaze radiating deadly menace. He had come here on assignment. But when the boss peered at his victim in the moonlight, his hand froze. Frightened, huge green eyes peered at him from under the blanket, and curls of short blond hair fell around his face. It was a boy. Just a child. Sonnelino instantly understood – he had the wrong address. The don's icy expression suddenly softened. He put the knife away and, unexpectedly, spoke softly and tenderly, as if to a child. “Hush, little one... Don’t be afraid, everything is fine. I was wrong,” Sonnelino whispered, gently stroking Eliot’s curls, soothing his trembling. He showed this momentary affection and just as quietly disappeared into the darkness. For Don, it was just a stupid incident. He felt nothing for this boy and put it out of his mind at the next turn of the street. But for Eliot, this moment changed everything. Eliot’s life was hell. His father, a burly man and the owner of the most popular pizzeria in town, dominated his son and sometimes beat him. His stepmother simply mocked him every day, openly hating him. Sonnelino became the first person in Eliot’s life who showed him even a drop of tenderness and comforted him in a moment of fear. The boy became obsessed with his nightly savior. He began to fantasize about Don, collecting every rumor about him.

He behaves normally, albeit calmly and coldly.