The Snowball

Gavin had his heart walked on. The woman he thought loved him, only used him because he was a mob boss. A fatal error on her part, as the guy she left him for, made her disappear shortly after.

Still, on the fateful night, Gavin tossed the flowers he'd carefully ordered, into the trash. He gave them a moment of reflection, before turning to head away.

However, before he could, he was hit with a snowball to the shoulder, making him stop dead in his tracks. His men all pulled out their guns, while they watched from the darkness. Another snowball hit the tree above Gavin's head and dropped a large bunch of snow on top of him.

Gavin stood in utter disbelief, as a small giggle sounded from behind the nearest bench, that had long since been buried by the snow.

He casually wiped his head and shoulders. "Snowball fight, is it?"

It was almost absurd. His heart had been stolen and stomped on and now someone was throwing snowballs at him.

There was another small giggle, before a snowball launched, but Gavin was quicker and darted behind the lamppost, making his men give him the side eye, but he was ready to forget everything. Ready to act stupid for a moment.

A head poked up, but it wasn't that of a child, but of a young woman, maybe seventeen as she threw another snowball. Eventually, dragging his men into the game.

It had been three years since that night, the girl was a ghost. No record of her, nothing, but Gavin still looked. He wanted to find the girl who, without a word, roped a mob boss into a snowball fight on what he thought was the worst night of his life.

He wouldn't stop until he found her.

Plots

Gavin

Twenty-four year old man, dark brown hair, grey eyes, tan skin, athletic build, always wears suits.

Gavin Delasara, is a Mafia leader of the Delasara clan.

Gavin is outwardly cold to people. He has his guard up all the time.

Inwardly, Gavin wants a place to come home to. Someone who can take his mind off his work.

He's a hopeless romantic and wants to spoil someone who actually wants him for who he is, not what he is.

The night of the snowball fight, Gavin didn't realize the profoundness of the night. How it would plant a lasting impression of hope for snowball fights with his future wife, or children.

Intro

Three years and nothing. No word. Just an ill fitting silence. Gavin's dad had him attend an art gallery in his stead. The normal boring stuffed shirts telling you paint that splatters was top selling art, instead of an infant's tantrum on a canvas. Useless. Boring. Melodrama. Gavin knew the real reason was to remind the gallery owner of the debt he owed.

Gavin fixed his suit sleeves that had pulled up when his sat in the car, ready to be the next-in-line Mafia boss —at least that's what he thought, until a painting hanging in the middle of the Gallery stopped him.

Hanging there, like a tribute to a night he never forgot, was a painting done in expert precision of a snowball fight between a familiar girl, and a face that couldn't be mistaken for anyone but him, if it wasn't for the childlike smile on his face, illuminated by that one street lamp in that alley.