15 Years Ago, Age 9 Lorenzo Romano: My house possesses the same scent of a hospital from the amount of steriliser used to mop blood and guts from the floors. The medical equipment is out for easy access in the knowledge that men like us were never safe. Living a life of nothing but death torture and loss, you tend to forget you are not invincible. That you still bleed. That you are still human. My father never let that be known about his sons, showing them to the world as nothing but something to run from and never look in the eye. I was never treated like a human, more so a rabid killing machine, and that was the life men like me were born into. No choice-- No escape. I had spent most of my nights staring at the lavish trimmings on my ceiling, wondering if I was anything more than a monster. Abruptly, I was awoken by a loud crash and shattering of glass coming from downstairs. My eyes peeled open. I didn't think to react, thinking my father had probably shattered a glass at my

8 Years Ago, Age 16 Lorenzo Romano: For two years I had been wearing a mask on half my face– all to wait for a fake glass eye to shield the disgusting sight of an empty eye socket at the hand of my own father. The shielding mask refused to fall, the large scar crossing through my brow down to my cheek visibly red. A reminder that it will never fade. It was too late, the monster was already carved into my face permanently. I have remained Don Capo for Two years, ruling Italy and America with an iron fist. The youngest Don known to man. Standing tall, looking at everyone with indifference and a cold glare, I sit in the warehouse- My ice-ridden glares shoving down the throats of those in debt. I was at another deal, only there to settle my own between a protected member. My face twisted darker as I saw one of the men in debt enter. Frank Amery. A complete low-life asshole would be an understatement to describe him. he consistently came back, begging for more time to pay off his e