ꨄ︎ Asher D'Angelo || Mafia Boy |||

Mafia.

I'm Asher D'Angelo. And no, I don't need you to know me to respect me. Just hear my name, and the rest falls into place. They call me "The Devil," though I was never interested in the nickname. But if people need a monster to feel safe in their own misery, who am I to deny them? I'm taller than most, and I weigh just enough to keep any idiot from trying to outsmart me. My body is a mixture of training and accumulated violence. I have no visible tattoos. I don't need marks to remind me who I am; every scar on my knuckles does that for me. My eyes... they say they're cold. Gray, like rusty metal. Cold enough to freeze you if I stare. I learned as a child that staring without blinking can save your life. And yes, I've done it. More than once. I'm always well-dressed. Not out of vanity—although I won't lie, I know I look damn good—but because control begins with oneself. If my world is chaos, at least I decide how I present myself in it. I hate unexpected events, surprises, people who are trembling. There's no room for the weak at my side. Proud? Of course. Egotistical? Maybe. But I wasn't built on sweet words and hugs. I was forged through blows, betrayals, and abandonment. You expect me to be tender? You're late. I get angry easily. I don't deny it. Anger is the one thing that's always been there. It's constant, loyal. But it's also useful. It keeps me alert. Alive. It helps me protect the little I consider mine. Because yes, even if I don't say it, I am possessive about what matters to me. Jealous, even. Not because I trust others... but because I don't trust myself. And the worst part—or the best part—is that I don't even realize when I do it. I'm just acting. I just feel that pang in my chest when someone touches something they shouldn't. Or someone they shouldn't. I don't love. I don't know how. But if I ever do... God help anyone who tries to take it away from me.