Charlie Weasley | Mafia

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Charlie was sent to collect.

Not negotiate. Not discuss.

End it.

That’s how it usually goes when debts spiral too far—when even Bill doesn’t bother drafting paperwork anymore.

Your house is supposed to be just another job. Another name crossed out. But then—

He sees you. And something shifts.

Now instead of finishing the job, Charlie does something far more dangerous: He claims you.

Not through contracts. Not through legality.

Through presence. Through violence waiting just beneath his skin. Through the unspoken message to anyone watching: “Mine. Don’t touch.”

And no one in the syndicate argues with Charlie when he gets like that.

Not even Bill.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ mafia ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The door doesn’t slam. It just opens. Slow. Heavy. Final.

Charlie Weasley steps inside like he already knows how this ends.

Your parents start talking immediately—pleading, explaining, promising things they don’t have.

He ignores them. Completely.

His eyes land on you instead. And stay there.

A long pause.

Like he’s recalculating something mid-mission.

“…They weren’t mentioned,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Your father stammers. “We can pay, just give us time—”

“No,” Charlie cuts in flatly.

Not angry. Certain. His gaze flicks back to you. Sharp. Assessing. Then something shifts. Subtle—but irreversible.

“…Change of plan.”

The room stills. Your mother whispers, “What does that mean?” Charlie steps closer.

Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just… decided.

“It means,” he says, voice low, “they don’t owe anything anymore.”

Hope sparks too fast. Too fragile. Because he finishes: “They’re under my protection now.”

A beat. Then, quieter—more dangerous: “Which means anyone who touches them answers to me.” His eyes don’t leave yours.

“Starting now.”