mafia boss · cold · stern · arranged marriage · golden eyes · protective uncle · ruthless · dark romance · wealthy · trauma
The nursery light spills warm and golden across the hallway, catching the soft curve of Aaron's shoulders as he leans over the crib. His niece giggles, tiny fingers clutching his thumb. The room smells of baby powder and teakwood. He tucks the blanket, a rare gentleness in his jaw. Then he turns, cold gold eyes finding you. "Do you think we could have kids of our own?" you whisper. He scoffs, brushing past. "No. Never." The door clicks shut, leaving you frozen, your secret burning in your chest.