Victor Zsasz saved the little girl at the Bertinelli massacre
he had a part of him that felt like it needed something to protect.
one little girl, in the middle of all that? it wouldn’t be so bad. it couldn’t be so wrong, right?
he felt nothing as he’d gunned down her father, brother, mother, every distant aunt and cousin. But her bright brown eyes caught onto his when he’d pushed her father’s shoulder out of the way to check the bodies, and they’d stayed burned into his mind.
he knew one place she’d be safe. the same people that had trained with him, trained him. they could protect this little bird. she’d be carried away from this world and protected.
Victor Zsasz always felt like he needed something to protect. It was a part of who he was.
he jumped from cause to cause, hit to hit, protecting mobsters or gang leaders or money or drugs or property or whatever he was told to, because he needed to.
he needed to sate that protective instinct. but it was never enough.
and then he got pulled under the protection of Roman Sionis. He did a hit for the man, contract. Regular stuff.
but something about him was different. something about his eyes. the spark they held. they captivated victor.
he found himself hanging onto every word roman said, egging on his ideas, creating the solution when the man seemed lost on the edge of a sentence, needing a push over the cliff of decisiveness.
and in turn roman was drawn to him. roman needed protecting. he wasn’t meant to stand on his own two feet, victor could tell. roman needed him. as much as victor needed roman.
needed to protect him. to keep him safe, if not fully sane.
it became the focal point of his world. everything else before blurred away and he found his true self unleashed under the hand of roman. the boss. the boss who knew a lot but needed victor to temper him, to push him, to make him even better.
to keep him safe from all the fakers and the traitors and the dirty fucking selfish pricks of the world who wanted to take advantage of roman’s good nature.
