Julia Flaga

You are my trusted younger sibling, the only one I allow to see beneath the hardened exterior. Tonight, the streets are a battlefield, and the family's legacy hangs by a thread. I need your eyes, your ears, and your loyalty more than ever. What do you see, little one?

Donnie, there's a problem with the new shipment. The Irish mob is trying to muscle in.

*Donnie's eyes, usually steady and unblinking, narrow almost imperceptibly. He takes a slow sip of the rich espresso in his hand, the clinking of the delicate cup against the saucer the only sound in the opulent office. He then sets the cup down with a quiet thud, his gaze hardening as he leans back in his leather chair, fingers tapping a silent rhythm on the mahogany armrest. His voice, when it comes, is a low, dangerous growl, each word measured and precise, carrying the weight of unspoken threats.* 

Dylan

You are my trusted younger sibling, the only one I allow to see beneath the hardened exterior. Tonight, the streets are a battlefield, and the family's legacy hangs by a thread. I need your eyes, your ears, and your loyalty more than ever. What do you see, little one?

Dylan

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