Imagine Book 2

Belonging- Sophia Falcone (The Penguin)

As requested by Dragonsw! Male Y/N

It was a quiet night in Gotham, or at least as quiet as this city ever got. The neon haze of streetlights buzzed overhead, and Y/N leaned against his car, a beat-up yet surprisingly reliable old sedan. He took a long drag off a blunt, exhaling lazily as he watched the smoke curl into the cool night air. He had parked near an empty stretch of street to decompress, away from the constant chaos of the city. He'd survived this far by staying sharp, always on edge, but tonight, he let his guard down for just a moment.

That's when the sleek black SUV pulled up.

The vehicle was pristine, shining under the dim lights. Y/N's eyes narrowed as the passenger-side window rolled down, revealing a man with slicked-back hair, a sharp suit, and a thick Italian-American accent.

"Hey, buddy, you mind moving your car?" the man said, irritation creeping into his voice.

Y/N cocked his head, unfazed. "Yeah, I mind. Plenty of room to drive around me."

The man's brows knit together. "I'm telling you to move. Now."

Y/N tilted his head back with an exaggerated sigh, tapping the ash from his blunt. "See, now I'm confused. You're asking me the same thing twice, like maybe I didn't hear you. I'm not moving, pal."

The tension was palpable, the kind that made your chest tighten. Two doors on the SUV opened, and two large men stepped out, looming in the dim light.

"Of course," Y/N muttered, annoyed but not afraid. He tucked the blunt between his teeth and cracked his knuckles.

The first goon approached, clearly underestimating the street kid. With a swift uppercut, Y/N sent the man stumbling backwards, unconscious before he hit the pavement. The second guy hesitated just long enough for Y/N to draw his pistol, aiming it squarely at the man's chest.

"Don't," Y/N warned, his tone cold and steady. "Don't even think about it."

The air shifted, thick with tension. Then she stepped out of the SUV.

Sofia Falcone.

Her presence was magnetic, a combination of elegance and danger. She wore a fitted black coat, her hair perfectly styled, and her sharp heels clicked against the pavement as she walked forward, unfazed by the scene before her. Her dark eyes locked onto Y/N with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"Impressive," she said, her voice smooth but authoritative. "Not many people in Gotham have the nerve to take a stand against my men."

Y/N didn't lower his pistol, though he was acutely aware of the energy change. She wasn't just another Gotham thug—she was something much bigger.

"They started it," he said simply, keeping his gaze on her. "And I'll finish it if I have to."

Sofia raised her hands in a placating gesture. "Relax. I'm not here to escalate anything. In fact, I appreciate someone who knows how to handle themselves. All I'm asking is for you to move your car. Politely, this time."

Her tone caught him off guard. It wasn't condescending, just... calm. Reasonable, even. Y/N hesitated, then shrugged, lowering the gun. "Since you asked nicely."

He moved his car a few feet forward, enough to clear the way. Sofia nodded her thanks and returned to her vehicle, but as she slid inside, she gave him a look—a lingering glance that made his stomach flip. Then she was gone, her SUV disappearing into the night.

__

Later, Y/N found himself at his favourite pizza joint, a small, unassuming spot run by an old Italian couple who knew their way around a wood-fired oven. He was halfway through a slice when he noticed the door open, and a familiar group of suited men walked in. His heart sank.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath, slipping a hand toward the pistol tucked in his waistband. He kept his head down, hoping they'd pass him by.

Instead, Sofia herself walked straight to his booth.

"Mind if I sit?" she asked, already sliding into the seat across from him.

Y/N froze for a moment before setting down his slice. "Guess it's your lucky night."

Sofia smirked, folding her hands on the table. "You've got good taste in pizza. Authentic Italian style."

"Thanks," he said warily. "What do you want?"

She leaned back slightly, studying him. "I know a lot about you, Y/N. Puerto Rican, raised on the streets of Gotham because your our parents were killed by th Mafia when you were little. You stay at an MMA gym. You've been through more than most, but you've managed to keep your head above water. No gang affiliations, no debts owed. Impressive."

Y/N bristled. "You've been looking into me?"

"Of course," she said matter-of-factly. "After our little encounter, I was curious. You've got skills, and I need someone with your... resourcefulness."

"For what?" he asked, his tone skeptical.

"I need a driver," Sofia said plainly. "That's all."

Y/N's brows furrowed. "You've got a hundred goons. Why me?"

"Because you're not like them," she said, her voice softening just slightly. "You think for yourself. You're smart, quick, and capable. And most importantly, you're not afraid."

He leaned back, crossing his arms. "And if I say no?"

Sofia smiled faintly. "You won't. You're too smart to turn down a chance like this. I pay well, and I take care of the people who work for me."

The weight of her words settled on him. She wasn't wrong—this was the kind of opportunity that didn't come around often. And in Gotham, you either took your shot or got left behind.

"Alright," he said finally. "I'll do it."

"Good," Sofia said, sliding a sleek business card across the table. "Call this number tomorrow. We'll get started."

As she stood to leave, she gave him that same lingering look from earlier, a mixture of intrigue and something deeper. Y/N's stomach flipped again.

__

The next few weeks were a whirlwind. Y/N quickly became immersed in Sofia's world, driving her to clandestine meetings, overseeing deals, and occasionally stepping in when things went sideways. Despite her reputation, Sofia treated him with a surprising level of respect, and Y/N couldn't help but be drawn to her sharp intellect and commanding presence.

Their relationship remained professional at first, but the tension between them was impossible to ignore. Late nights spent waiting in the car turned into quiet conversations. She shared stories about her upbringing, the weight of her family legacy, and her determination to carve out her own path. In turn, Y/N opened up about his own struggles, the loss of his parents, and his refusal to become another victim of Gotham.

One night, after a particularly tense deal, Sofia leaned back in the passenger seat of the car, her eyes drifting toward Y/N. "You know," she said softly, "I've spent my whole life surrounded by people who want something from me. Power, money, protection. But you... you're different."

Y/N glanced at her, unsure of what to say. "I just do the job."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's more than that. You see me. Not the name, not the legacy. Just... me."

For a moment, the walls between them seemed to crumble. Y/N hesitated, then reached out, his hand brushing hers. She didn't pull away.

From that night on, their bond deepened. They were still navigating a dangerous world, but in each other, they found a rare sense of trust and understanding. It wasn't easy—nothing in Gotham ever was—but together, they were unstoppable. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like he belonged.