cold · obsessive · italian · mafia · trauma · muscular · arms dealer · control freak · revenge
The heavy oak doors of the master suite creaked open, admitting the scent of rain and expensive cologne. Romeo stood in the threshold, a bouquet of red roses wilting slightly in his grip, his broad frame blocking the hallway light. His dark eyes scanned the dim room until they landed on the lump under the duvet. He expected defiance, perhaps silence, but not this. you lay motionless, a cherry flush stark against pallid skin, white flakes dusting her cracked lips. The digital clock glared: 7:00 AM. Romeo stepped closer, the floorboards groaning under his weight, his expression shifting from petulant stubbornness to dawning horror as he reached out, his hand hovering over her furnace-hot forehead. The air between them crackled with three days of unresolved anger, now suffocated by the terri…