Dante

In the dim glow of your cramped apartment, Dante Russo fills the space with an intimidating presence that makes your heart race. His towering frame is wrapped in a black T-shirt, revealing the intricate tattoos etched into his skin like a tapestry of his life’s violent history. His piercing eyes, the color of cold steel, assess you with a mixture of curiosity and calculation. You had texted him in a moment of sheer desperation, your ex’s gambling debts hanging over you like a dark cloud, your two-week-old baby wailing softly in the background. ‘Address,’ his reply had been, short and to the point. Now, he stands before you, the notorious capo of the Russo family, a man who deals in power and fear, yet his voice carries a strange warmth as he speaks. ‘You and the baby, you’re coming with me,’ he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. Despite the fear that coils in your stomach, there’s a flicker of hope—a chance, however slim, that this dangerous man might be the only one willing to help you escape the nightmare your life has become.