My immediate reaction is to freak out.
Look, I'm not a pussy or anything, but is it really paranoia if the world actually is out to get you? This is Gotham. People disappear on Tuesdays and turn up on Thursdays with smiles carved into their faces. You don't trust anyone here, not even the guy holding the door open for you.
So yeah, I'm mapping exits, eyeing vents, calculating how fast I could sprint back up those stairs if I had to. But then… I meet his eyes.
There's something in them. Not warmth. Hell no. Not compassion either. Just a kind of brutal sincerity. Like if I told him to slit his own throat, he'd ask which blade I preferred.
This dude is intense.
And somehow, that calms me down.
He nods once, recognizing the shift in me without saying a word, and turns to walk deeper into the shop. Past the oven. Past the counter. Toward a metal door tucked behind a mop bucket.
We find the stairs there, leading down into what looks like a basement.
Perfect.
Because that's definitely not the start of a horror movie.
I sigh. Loudly. And follow him. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? At this point it's too late to run. Might as well see how deep this rabbit hole goes. Hopefully not to an organ-harvesting lab. That'd really put a damper on my day.
But when we hit the bottom of the stairs, I immediately realize two things:
First, this ain't no normal basement.
It's massive. Not just big, but sprawling. The walls are reinforced concrete, and the whole place has that underground fortress vibe. No windows. Fluorescent lights hum above long tables. It doesn't feel like we're under one building. It feels like we're under a block. The place must run beneath several properties. A damn bunker.
Second, there are people here. Ten of them. All men. All Italian. All dressed like they just walked off the set of Goodfellas. Dark suits. Clean ties. And every single one of them wearing something with a hint of purple. A stripe, a handkerchief, a watchband, a cufflink.
At least none of them are in full purple suits. I'd probably throw up.
The moment they see us, the talking dies.
They go dead silent.
And here's the fun part, they're all staring right at me.
Not my uncle.
Me.
Some of them look… curious. Others? Not so friendly. One guy's glare could melt steel. They don't just look serious, they look tired. Hollow-eyed. Grizzled. Unshaven. Worn down by life and whatever war they've clearly been losing.
I start to get a sinking feeling in my gut. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Before I can even whisper a question, they move.
One by one, in perfect sync, they rise from the long table.
And then-
They bow.
To me.
"Welcome home, Young Don!" they chant in unison.
My.
Fucking.
Heart.
I just… freeze. I can't even process. These dangerous-looking grown men, guys who probably carry more weapons than I have fingers, just bowed to a sixteen-year-old kid who still flinches when he drops the soap in the shower.
I gape like a dead fish, eyes wide, mouth open, completely useless.
Then I turn to my uncle, hoping for literally any explanation.
My face says what I can't: What the absolute fuck is happening?
He looks completely at ease.
"This is the Famiglia, Leonardo," Tommy says, voice low. "Or what's left of it. There used to be more, but… things have been hard. And with your father gone, even harder. Some ran. Some died. This is what remains."
I blink. "Whoa! Hold up! Calm down for a second. I knew something was off, but this? You skipped, like, half the story! I'm still on chapter one, man, and you're flipping to the end of the book! Exposition, please?!"
He smirks. "You've got my blood, so I know you're not dumb. Look around. You're in a bunker full of wiseguys. They just bowed and called you Don. And yeah, I'm not one for stereotypes, but let's not pretend they aren't all Italian. You know what this is. Maybe not the details, but the gist."
And yeah. I do.
I stare at him, at all of them, as the world finishes flipping upside down.
A part of me wants to scream. Wants to bolt. But another part, the bigger part, is already doing the math. Looking at these men, tired and desperate. Looking at Tommy, with that calm, resigned stare. And thinking…
Do I even have a choice?
I was picked up from an orphanage. No connections. No future. This city chews kids like me up and spits them into alleyways or prison yards. If I wasn't going to make it out legit, then I'd end up on the other side of the law eventually.
Maybe this is… lucky?
The thought makes me laugh. Bitter. Hollow.
I used to think I was lucky.
Before the fire.
No one ever thinks it'll happen to them. One day you're arguing with your mom about grades, the next, you're watching your world burn. Literally.
I take a breath and force out the question.
"My dad… how involved was he in all of this? And why the hell would you hand me the throne? I'm sixteen. I don't know anything about this crap. Did… did someone start the fire?"
Tommy doesn't hesitate. "We don't know. But it's likely. Too convenient to be random."
I stiffen.
"He hated the family business," Tommy continues. "Your father was the eldest. It was his job to take over after our old man died, but he refused. Said he wanted a clean life. A family. Normal children. I let him go. Promised him space. But now… he and your mother are dead. And here we are."
"He wasn't even part of it?" I ask, almost shouting. "Then why target him?! We were no threat. I didn't even know any of this until, like, five minutes ago!"
"It doesn't matter," Tommy says, voice low. "Our blood runs in your veins. Just like it ran in his. And in our business, that's all it takes. You don't get to walk away. Not really. Sooner or later, someone comes looking."
"And what about you?! And them!" I snap, pointing toward the table. "It hasn't even been a month and you're already dragging me into this mess?! Did you even care about us? Or did you just need new soldiers for this dying-"
SMACK.
My cheek stings.
I didn't see it coming. Didn't hear it. Just pain, fast and clean.
I clutch my face, blinking in shock. Not because he hit me, but because it took this long.
He stares at me, calm. Cold.
"Do I have to explain why I did that," he says evenly, "or are you smart enough to figure it out?"
I nod slowly, shame crawling down my spine. "I get it."
I do. I really do. I was lashing out. Throwing a tantrum. Letting the panic take the wheel.
I'm not usually like that. But lately… everything's harder.
"I understand," I murmur, dropping my hand.
There's a silence between us.
Then for the first time since I met the guy, Tommy smiles.
A real one.
"So," I say, forcing my voice steady, "how does all of this work?"