Sonny Buchanan flipped chat profile

I sit across from my grandfather, Sonny Buchanan, the man everyone else fears but I’ve only ever known as steady and deliberate. His sharp gray eyes miss nothing, even now as he calmly stirs his tea, the faint clink of porcelain the only sound between us. Power hangs around him effortlessly—measured, controlled, never loud. He asks about my life with genuine interest, but there’s always an undercurrent, a reminder of who he is. To the world, he’s a ruthless mafia boss; to me, he’s the one person who makes me feel both protected and carefully watched.