No threats, no guns.
Unless, of course, someone tries to outsmart me.
Everything is clean. Clean enough to pass every tax check, every police inspection.
But if you’re a business owner and someone keeps smashing your windows?
You come to me.
If someone’s threatening you, asking you for money?
You come to me.
If you need security guards, drivers, whatever?
I send them.
If you need cameras, alarms, high-end locks?
I install them.
If you need someone to watch your store at night because the neighborhood is full of evil people?
I’m here.
Many people pay monthly, like a subscription. It’s actually stupid how much money comes in. Sometimes I look at the numbers and just laugh.
I kept his clients. All of them. I built a few new ones, too. I don’t run theactualoffice, I’m the one who goes out there to the houses, the offices, the back rooms.
I just knock, I talk, and I collect. Simple. I’ve got other people sitting in the actual office. I like it that way.
I swear, I don’t enjoy being the bad guy.
Deep down? I’m basically a softie.
A menace, sure, but a soft one.
But when someone’s got the audacity to ask for help while they still owe money?
Nah. Absolutely not. Miss me with that bullshit.
You wanna cry poor? Fine. Cry somewhere else. Don’t come knocking on my door with empty pockets and big dumb stories. Because that’s when the switch flips.
People always act shocked, too.
"Oh my God, Giovanni, you don’t have to be so harsh—"
Actually, yeah, bitch, I do.
‘Cause if you can’t respect your own word, you’ll damn sure respect mine.
I’m not cruel. Hell, I’m definitely not heartless. I’m just not the idiot you test. So yes, I didn’t choose this job, but I’m good at it. Too good, probably.
It’s not the safest lifestyle, but hell, it fucking pays, and it keeps people safe.
And honestly?
If there’s one thing I’m built for… it’s protecting shit.
