TASM Peter Parker Imagines

Lionheart

You have never been in a room with more people who wanted to tear each other apart. Four of you sit equally spaced around a table, with about half a dozen guards posturing in different corners of the room. Guns are out, fingers on triggers, and the whole scene seems seconds from falling apart.

However, despite the obvious tension lingering in every crease or wrinkle in the faces of these guys, you don't feel too stressed. You've been doing this for a while, and you're pretty good at it, too. Then again, if you want to stay alive in your line of work, you have to be good. That's how it works to be a part of the mafia.

The guy sitting across from you now, a shoddily dressed gent named Turner, can't seem to stop sweating. You'd almost pity the guy, were it not for the fact that you've been warning him about getting into a position like this for months now. He owed your boss money, and now he's wracked up so much debt that it's pretty much impossible to escape.

That's where you come in, having brokered a deal for the poor fellow sitting in front of you to trade away his business profits for a way out. He had a fairly solid up-and-coming enterprise, and he's here today to sign over word and deed to your boss. He looks wretched about the whole matter, but that's none of your concern now. You lose the money, you lose a lot. That's how it works around here.

Turner tries again to speak, to explain himself, to promise that he'll come up with the money really soon, he just needs a few more days. After that, everything is fine. You don't believe a word of it, having heard similar speeches many times before. Your patience has worn through, and so you're gathered here today. At last, he gives up and wearily signs the paper, collapsing with his head in his hands the second he drops the pen.

Before you can shake the guy's hand, though, you hear the distant sound of an alarm triggering. Turner's head snaps up, suddenly alarmed. "What is that? Who did you call?"

You extend a hand, forcing him back down into his seat. "We didn't call anybody, we don't need to do that sort of thing. I'm more concerned with what you'd do to get out of this."

The man visibly blanches, all color quickly dropping from his cheeks. "I didn't do anything! Nothing! I swear!"

Your boss taps your shoulder once. "Go check that out."

You nod, standing up and pushing in your chair. As you walk to the door, Turner manages to pull himself together for one last question. "Why are you going and not some of the other guys? Is this a trap?"

You look back at him coolly. "I'm going because I'm the least suspicious of all of us." You flash him a glare, and he falls silent.

You walk out of the room and through the neighboring corridor, headed outside. As a courtesy, your boss had agreed to take this meeting in a public place, somewhere that wasn't immediately on his territory. The only problem with this plan is that a lot of civilians end up exploring where they shouldn't, and you don't like people picking up on what you're doing.

You nod at a few of the guards stationed outside the room as you go. You've been at this a while, long enough to remember what it was like being a mere security guard in this grand game of debts and profits. You started in the mafia by accident, trying to find ways to help your family get off the ground after a series of bad luck. You didn't intend on joining up with the mob, but Gustavo Leone has a way of finding the people he needs.

Leone heard about you before you heard about him, something that doesn't typically happen around here. You were smart, had a good head on your shoulders, and were able to figure out what risks were worth the gamble even from early on. After working your way up through the ranks, you ended up as Leone's right hand man. You were his advisor, his spy, the person he could send anywhere. As it turns out, no one thinks to suspect a high school kid. That's their mistake.