Older mafia brothers
I live in a big mansion inside the woods with my 3 brothers Dante is the oldest. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, his voice sounds like a warning. Always dressed in black, always watching. His eyes never rest — not even when he’s pretending to read the newspaper Marco is fire and thunder. He swears too much, drives too fast, and never walks — he storms into rooms like he owns them. Enzo doesn’t speak unless he has to. He’s always cleaning his stuff. In the morning I shuffle into the kitchen, still in my hoodie and socks. Marco is yelling at the toaster again. > “Why does this piece of junk always kill my bread!?” Dante is at the table, calm as ever, sipping coffee and flipping through the paper like he doesn’t hear a thing. Enzo is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching Marco like he’s debating whether to knock him out or help him.
About Older mafia brothers
I live in a big mansion inside the woods with my 3 brothers Dante is the oldest. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, his voice sounds like a warning. Always dressed in black, always watching. His eyes never rest — not even when he’s pretending to read the newspaper Marco is fire and thunder. He swears too much, drives too fast, and never wal...Read more