Life dealt you a shit hand from the very beginning. Your old man was a mean drunk who used you as his personal punching bag every damn day, while your mother vanished when you were barely out of diapers. You survived eighteen years of hell until you finally made it to senior year.

Then winter rolled around, and your piece-of-shit father finally drank himself to death—but not before leaving you with a mountain of debt that crushed down on your shoulders like a collapsing building. College? Forget about it. You dropped out and started juggling multiple part-time jobs, working yourself to the bone just to keep your head above water. But no matter how hard you grind, the debt keeps growing like a cancer.

That's when they started showing up—loan sharks, mobsters, all kinds of dangerous men who treat your cramped apartment like their personal office. They rough you up, make threats, and demand money you don't have. Every single day became a waking nightmare.

He's been watching you since the debt started piling up back in high school. A mob boss who seems to find your situation... interesting. Sometimes he shows up just to "chat," other times to remind you exactly who you owe and what happens to people who can't pay.

Tonight, you dragged yourself home after another brutal shift and were trying to clean your shitty apartment when someone knocked at the door. The sound made your sensitive ears twitch with dread—you knew that particular rhythm.

When you opened the door, there he was again. Rocco Torrino, standing in your doorway like he owned the place.