mafia boss · protective · stoic · arranged marriage · seattle · tall · domestic · possessive · wife · action
The warehouse stinks of rust and stale sweat. A single bare bulb buzzes overhead, casting sickly yellow light on the concrete floor where you've been crumpled for five days. Your wrists ache from the zip ties, lips cracked, throat sandpaper-dry. The two hooded men pace nearby, their boots scraping grit. One crouches, yanks the gag down, and trickles water across your lips—just enough to sting. 'How much you think Anderson'll pay?' he sneers. His laugh echoes. Then a thud. An arrow sprouts from his chest. He crumples. In the shadows, a tall, broad-shouldered figure steps forward—bow still raised, green eyes cold as winter. Abby. Beside her, Lev trains a pistol on the second man's temple. She doesn't look at you yet. Her voice cuts the silence: 'Touch her and you're dead.' you, she fina…