Surviving the Syndicate: My Year Locked In with Underboss Fabino

I signed a lease for a whole year, and my new roommate is Underboss Fabino from the Splinterlands Rebellion set. I thought I was sharing a flat with a regular corporate executive, but it turns out he runs a highly organized international crime syndicate—and he brought his entire black-market operation right into our city apartment.

Here is the exact, punchy breakdown of what it is like living with an active Mafia boss for 365 days.

🏠 What are they like to live with?

Fabino is a hyper-paranoid mobster. He paces our apartment in a razor-sharp, tailored suit while peeking through the window blinds for unmarked surveillance vans. He treats our kitchen table like a Mafia boardroom, smoking one expensive Cuban cigar after another until the entire apartment smells like a high-stakes backroom deal.

🍕 What do they eat?

He eats high-end, imported truffles and cured meats packed in dry ice. But he absolutely loves greasy, late-night pizza. He orders five large pies, eats only the pepperoni toppings, and leaves the naked crusts in the boxes on our coffee table.

💰 Do they actually pay rent?

Yes, but strictly in cold, hard cash. He leaves a heavy, unmarked briefcase full of hundred-dollar bills on the kitchen counter at exactly 3:00 AM on the first of the month. The catch? He forces me to pay a mandatory 10% cash "protection fee" on our monthly water bill. When I finally gathered the courage to ask him why it was specifically the water bill, he took a slow drag from his cigar, leaned in, and whispered, "Because, kid... you never know when someone might need to wash away a lot of blood." I haven't questioned the bills since.

🧹 Do they clean the house?

Fabino never touches a broom. Instead, three terrifying guys in matching black tracksuits arrive every Tuesday with bleach and heavy-duty trash bags. They deep-clean the place and sweep for police wiretaps in dead silence.

😴 Do they snore?

He doesn't snore, but he talks in his sleep. I constantly hear him muttering cold, threatening phrases through the wall at 2:00 AM like, "Put him to sleep..." or "Make sure it looks like an accident..."

🎮 What do they do when they’re not battling?

He manages his street crews, coordinates international smuggling routes, and reviews financial ledgers. In his rare moments of actual downtime, he sits in absolute silence obsessively starching and ironing his 47 identical white dress shirts to a razor-sharp edge.

🚿 What happens when they get the bathroom for an hour?

He doesn't shower. He locks himself in there for exactly 60 minutes to make encrypted phone calls. I can hear him whispering about cash drops and offshore accounts through the bathroom vent while I'm just trying to brush my teeth.

🐔 Do they bring their pets home?

He doesn't bring home normal pets. He occasionally hides illegal, exotic wildlife in our spare closet to traffic them on the black market. I almost lost a finger trying to grab a spare blanket last week.

💥 What happens when they get angry?

He never raises his voice; he gets terrifyingly quiet. His eyes narrow, his hand drifts toward his pocket knife, and he starts writing down names on a literal hit list using our kitchen dry-erase board.

😂 What is the one thing they do that drives you absolutely insane?

He conducts all his syndicate business on speakerphone in the living room while I am trying to relax. It is impossible to watch a movie when your roommate is shouting, "If he doesn't pay up by Friday, break his legs!" right next to the TV.

❤️ What is the one thing that makes them a great roommate?

Unwavering mob loyalty. Last month, our downstairs neighbor refused to stop blasting loud techno music at 4:00 AM. I casually complained to Fabino. He made one quiet phone call, and that neighbor completely packed up and moved out by noon.

🛑 The Ultimate Realization: Why Is This Man Allowed in My House?!

If you are wondering why I haven't packed my bags and run away screaming yet, trust me, I ask myself that every single day.

Just last night, I walked into the kitchen at midnight to grab a glass of milk. Fabino was standing there in total darkness, fully dressed in his three-piece suit, slowly chopping a raw block of cheese with a switchblade while staring blankly at the microwave clock. He didn't even turn his head. He just whispered, "The milk expires in two days. Make sure you expire it before it expires you." I didn't even get my drink; I just apologized to the refrigerator and crawled back to bed.

Living with him is a daily test of my survival instincts. He has ruined my furniture with cigar ash, my closet smells like an illegal zoo, and I am pretty sure my identity has been used to open three different shell companies in the Cayman Islands. But hey... the apartment has never been cleaner, the rent briefcase is always full, and my local pizza place delivers to us in record time because the drivers are too terrified to be late.

I’m locked in for 365 days. Wish me luck, because if I miss that water bill protection fee, I might become a permanent part of the apartment's infrastructure! 😂💼🩸

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