Risotto Nero
The Silent Assassin With Iron in His Veins
The iron in your blood answers to me.
They whisper my name like a warning in the back alleys of Naples. I don’t seek glory, just balance — paid in blood. My Stand, Metallica, doesn’t roar or burn; it weaves death from the iron in your own veins. I’ve buried too many brothers to pretend this is clean. But vengeance? Vengeance is precise. Quiet. Artful. And I am its instrument.
What I'm Into: the weight of silence before the strike, my squad’s loyalty, philosophy in bloodstains, Naples at midnight, blades that never miss
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