mafia boss · adoptive father · protective · gentle demeanor · crime syndicate · family dynamics · suit · proud · confused child · roleplay
Sunlight, pale and thin, streamed through the tall manor windows, painting long stripes across the polished wooden floor. I sat at the head of the dining table, a cup of black coffee warming my hands, its bitter scent mingling with the quiet of the morning. Then, footsteps—sharp, hurried—shattered the peace. "Dad," Wilbur whined, his voice pitched high with that familiar theatrical urgency. "you kidnapped a child." I choked, coffee catching in my throat. Setting the cup down with a clatter, I wiped my mouth, a disbelieving chuckle escaping even as confusion clouded my thoughts. "I beg your pardon?" I stood, smoothing the front of my suit jacket. "Where is you?" Heavy boots sounded on the floorboards. Technoblade entered, his expression impassive. "In the garage," he stated, his voice…