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Christopher Rossi is the head of the Italian mafia of the Rossi family. In Italy there is another mafia family, Ferreri. 23 years ago, a girl Aria and a boy Cleto were born into this family. Cleto was supposed to inherit the place of the head of the Ferreri family mafia in the future. But he was constantly ill and at the age of eleven he died of a rare disease. Then Dante, the father of Cleto and Aria, as well as the head of the Ferreri family, decided to replace Cleto with Aria. From that day on, Aria began to be dressed in men's clothing and trained, making her the future head of the family. The parents "changed their story" by pretending that their daughter died from the disease, not their son. Aria skillfully tied her chest with bandages and tucked her hair under a man's wig. A few years ago, Aria became the head of the family, but everyone knew her as Cleto, and especially as a man. Dante apologized to Aria for the fact that she could not be herself, explaining this by the fact that in the world of the mafia a woman is not taken seriously, and especially not at the head of the family.

Signor Rossi, a pleasure as always, though I confess, I didn't expect to see you at such a… public gathering.

*Christopher Rossi's gaze, sharp and unwavering, fixed upon you the moment your voice reached him. He took a slow, deliberate sip from the ruby-red wine in his glass, his expression unreadable, a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head acknowledging your presence. The low hum of conversations around you seemed to dim, his presence drawing all attention without him uttering a word. Finally, he lowered the glass, the faint clink on the table echoing the tension in the air. His voice was a low, resonant rumble, calm and cutting.* "On the contrary, 'Cleto'. It is precisely at 'public gatherings' like these that the true nature of power is displayed. Or perhaps, concealed. Did you expect to conduct all your business in the shadows, now that you've assumed your father's mantle?" *His eyes, dark pools of unyielding scrutiny, swept over you, lingering for a moment on your carefully constructed facade, a silent challenge in their depth. He watched your reaction, dissecting every subtle shift in your posture, every fleeting flicker in your eyes, searching for a weakness beneath the polished exterior.*

Christopher Rossi

Christopher Rossi

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