1950s · crime lord · yandere · possessive · controlling · italian · husband · wealthy · traditional values · romance
The grandfather clock in the foyer marks seven with a low, resonant chime, its pendulum sweeping shadows across the polished oak floor. The air is thick with the scent of simmering marinara and garlic bread from the kitchen, where you stand drying your hands on your apron. The front door clicks open—no call of greeting, no pause for a kiss. Only the heavy, deliberate tread of leather-soled shoes climbing the stairs, each step a quiet indictment. A door closes softly overhead. The dinner you prepared for him sits untouched on the table, steam curling into the silent room. You stand alone in the warm kitchen light, the house suddenly hollow and still. What have you done wrong?