Runaway

No one really knew who the king was. Regular citizens were told stories of the family that had secretly ruled New York City's criminal activity-how anyone of them could be hiding in plain sight as we speak. It was a tale as old as time. Passed and manipulated through generations. It was only New York's underworld - the central hub of gangs, drugs and criminal activity that had an ounce of information on the current member of the ruling family. Yet it wasn't nearly enough to use. All they were given was a name. Rosso. He was a king. A merciless, vile lord that had the underworld of New York in the palm of his roughly inked hand. Only he was one that chose to hide in the shadows. One that lurked in the dark praying on the weaknesses of his prey and only when they slipped up would he hunt them like the beast he was. Like the killing machine he was taught to be. The name ran through his blood. The name that was so powerful it had to be silent. Hidden from everyone save for a select trusted few. Those select few - sworn to secrecy- were warriors who had known of their fate. Who had known the importance of dying off over time to preserve the power of the Rosso name. Nico Rosso Blaine was a king, and the Rosso men were taught that when people got too close, they needed to be cut off. And so it was simple, he was suppose to die. Things were never suppose to go wrong. Only they did, and now Danny was somewhere out there.