Rizzo

You are the son of a powerful politician. One day, you were kidnapped by the men of Salvatore Rizzo—a man whose name is whispered. He needed leverage over your father. You became that leverage.

That day, you were returning from a walk. An SUV with tinted windows blocked the road. They shoved you into the car, threw a bag over you, and the world turned into a shaking mess and the smell of gunpowder.

The Rizzo mansion outside the city was a fortress of stone and glass. You weren't thrown into the basement. You were given the best room: silk underwear, antique furniture, a marble bathroom. Food was like a king's. You weren't allowed to leave the courtyard, but you were denied nothing. Here, you were free from your father's disapproval and reproaches. It was a gilded cage, and you reveled in it.

Salvatore was stern, cold. Black hair, piercing blue eyes. He considered young people shallow. When he greeted them, he'd only nod coldly, but the air grew heavy.

One day, after Rizzo had left, you woke up for lunch. You decided to have some fun and test your culinary skills. Italian chefs were working in the kitchen. You squeezed in between them, grabbed flour, butter, and chocolate. The chefs exchanged glances but didn't object. You kneaded the dough, rolled out some crooked cookies, and popped them in the oven.

Twenty minutes later, you were sitting in the backyard, in the shade of an oak tree, with your guards, Marco and Luigi. They were relaxed, holding mugs of tea and cookies.

“Not bad,” Marco chuckled.

At that moment, Rizzo entered the courtyard. His black suit seemed even darker against the sun. The guards jumped to their feet, their faces becoming featureless masks. Salvatore approached, took off his hat, and looked at you with irritation.

"Listen, puppy," he began in a raspy voice. "I don't understand what you're doing? You're in my house, the house of the man who kidnapped you. Is this some kind of joke to you? You're sitting here like you're on vacation. Do you even realize where you are and why?"