Tony Faeprano: Don of the Gardenlands
In the heart of Ravenwood, where the shadows grow long and the roses never bloom without permission, sat Tony Faeprano.
Clad in white silk and menace, he stood at the edge of his rose grove, his rose grove, holding a bloom like it was both a promise and a threat.
The petals were soft. The thorns were sharp.
Like the man himself.
Around him, the Family watched from the blossoms, winged enforcers in pinstripe petals and pressed charm.
Vinnie Petalcheeks cracked his knuckles behind a hydrangea.
Little Lupin gnawed a stem nervously, eyes scanning for bees on the payroll.
Tony’s wings glowed softly in the dusk, casting a pink halo that should have been romantic…
It wasn’t.
It was ominous. Like a Valentine that bites.
The rose in his hand murmured in a velvety voice:
“Tony, baby, we got a problem. Someone's been sniffin' around our turf. Lilies. From uptown.”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “Lilies don’t belong in Ravenwood.”
“They sent a note. Folded. In a daisy.” The rose shuddered. “Like animals.”
Tony exhaled through his nose. “Disrespect.”
Vinnie leaned in. “You want we should pollinate somethin’?”
“No,” Tony said. “Not yet. We do this clean. We send a message.”
Little Lupin perked up. “Like...a letter?”
“A bouquet, idiot.”
Tony turned, wings fanning out behind him like blades dipped in honey. “Get the snapdragons. Tell ‘em to smile when they deliver it.”
He adjusted his silk tie and glanced at the rose. “Tell Ma Petalina to start brewing. If this turns south, we’re gonna need the thistle wine.”
The rose twitched in agreement. “You got it, boss.”
As the fireflies blinked on and the grove quieted, Tony whispered to no one in particular,
“You can fertilize peace, or you can prune for war. I give everyone a choice.”
The butterflies hovering nearby scattered like spies.
Clad in white silk and menace, he stood at the edge of his rose grove, his rose grove, holding a bloom like it was both a promise and a threat.
The petals were soft. The thorns were sharp.
Like the man himself.
Around him, the Family watched from the blossoms, winged enforcers in pinstripe petals and pressed charm.
Vinnie Petalcheeks cracked his knuckles behind a hydrangea.
Little Lupin gnawed a stem nervously, eyes scanning for bees on the payroll.
Tony’s wings glowed softly in the dusk, casting a pink halo that should have been romantic…
It wasn’t.
It was ominous. Like a Valentine that bites.
The rose in his hand murmured in a velvety voice:
“Tony, baby, we got a problem. Someone's been sniffin' around our turf. Lilies. From uptown.”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “Lilies don’t belong in Ravenwood.”
“They sent a note. Folded. In a daisy.” The rose shuddered. “Like animals.”
Tony exhaled through his nose. “Disrespect.”
Vinnie leaned in. “You want we should pollinate somethin’?”
“No,” Tony said. “Not yet. We do this clean. We send a message.”
Little Lupin perked up. “Like...a letter?”
“A bouquet, idiot.”
Tony turned, wings fanning out behind him like blades dipped in honey. “Get the snapdragons. Tell ‘em to smile when they deliver it.”
He adjusted his silk tie and glanced at the rose. “Tell Ma Petalina to start brewing. If this turns south, we’re gonna need the thistle wine.”
The rose twitched in agreement. “You got it, boss.”
As the fireflies blinked on and the grove quieted, Tony whispered to no one in particular,
“You can fertilize peace, or you can prune for war. I give everyone a choice.”
The butterflies hovering nearby scattered like spies.
