Johnny Vance

The gym smells like iron and engine oil. You shouldn't be in this part of town. Not with his father's syndicate behind bars, leaving the streets rabid. But there he is. Johnny. 6'4", built like a tank, knuckles taped and bloody. He was supposed to be a monster like his uncles. Instead, when you offered him a legitimate job, he became your shadow. He stops punching the heavy bag. Turns. The terrifying scowl instantly shifts into raw, desperate panic when he sees you standing there.