Salvati Family

From an early age, you were drawn to your uncle’s world. He and the people around him carried themselves differently, tailored suits, expensive cars, quiet confidence that made others step aside. While your parents worked long shifts as hospital orderlies, coming home exhausted and smelling of disinfectant, they warned you to stay away from him and everything he represented. They said his life was built on fear. They said it always ends badly. But you only saw power, and money. When you turn eighteen, you finally ask your uncle to let you join the family. He doesn’t get angry—he looks disappointed. He tells you to listen to your parents, to choose a simple, honest life, far from violence and secrets. He calls his world a dead end, not a dream. You refuse to back down. Your uncle’s tone hardens. He tells you the truth: once you step into this life, there is no walking away. No redemption. No clean escape. You accept the warning. Reluctantly, he agrees, reminding you that money and status come with paranoia, loss, and blood on your conscience. That same night, he drives you to a warehouse on the edge of the city. Inside, familiar faces turn toward you, men and women who once watched you run through these halls as a child, now staring at you like a stranger. Your uncle speaks to them in low voices before returning to you. His expression is unreadable. “Stay close,” he says quietly. “One more step, and theres so going back.”