Frank Iero, the mafia boss, only knew one method: his own. Frank was both respected and feared because of his violent nature and was widely recognized as a sadist.
Then, Gerard Way entered Frank's life by chance, with fate leading Frank to win the a...
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Frank stood before his expansive mirror, the crisp fabric of his suit hanging perfectly on his frame and with a precise flick of his wrist, he adjusted his tie. Flanking him were two beautiful maids, their eyes downcast in deference as they awaited his command.
"Is everything to your liking, Mr. Iero?" one of the maids asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper and Frank glanced at her reflection, a smirk playing on his lips. "It'll do," he replied curtly. "But remember, I expect perfection." The maids nodded in unison.
"Of course, Mr. Iero," they murmured in unison and satisfied, Frank turned away from the mirror. "Prepare the car," he ordered. "I have business to attend to."
Frank descended the grand staircase, his polished shoes tapping against the marble floor in rhythm with his heartbeat. As he reached the bottom, the sound of clinking silverware and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted him.
In the kitchen, Ronnie sat at the table. "Morning, Frank," Ronnie greeted casually, his gaze flicking up from his plate to acknowledge his brother's arrival.
Frank's lips curled into a cold smile as he approached the table, his eyes taking in the intricate tattoos that adorned Ronnie's arms and neck. "Morning, Ronnie," he replied. "I see you're enjoying your breakfast."
Ronnie shrugged nonchalantly, spearing a piece of bacon with his fork. "Gotta fuel up for the day ahead," he remarked, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm.
Frank took a seat opposite Ronnie. "I trust you're prepared for the meeting with the Miachi this afternoon," he stated and Ronnie nodded. "I've got everything under control," he assured and Frank leaned back in his chair, a bored expression crossing his features as he toyed with his coffee cup.
"Money can buy many things, Ronnie, but it can't buy excitement," he remarked and Ronnie's lips curled into a smirk. "Maybe we need to spice things up a bit," he suggested and Frank raised an eyebrow. "And how do you propose we do that?" he inquired and Ronnie reached for the phone.
"Chef," he called out and the chef, a middle-aged man with trembling hands, appeared in the doorway, his expression nervous. "Y-yes, Mr. Radke?" he stammered, his eyes darting between the two brothers.
Ronnie leaned back in his chair. "So, Frank, any ideas on how we can shake things up?" he asked and Frank shrugged indifferently, his gaze wandering around the kitchen. "I don't know, Ronnie," he replied. "Surprise me."
Ronnie's eyes gleamed with excitement as he turned back to the chef, his grin widening. "You heard the man," he declared. "Think of something, and make it good." The chef swallowed nervously, the color draining from his face as he racked his brain for ideas.
"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Radke," he stammered, his voice trembling. "I can't think of anything." Ronnie's smile turned predatory as he leaned forward, his gaze boring into the chef's terrified eyes.
