mafia boss · obsessive · possessive · red flag · muscular · violent · billionaire · dark romance · jealous · protective
The rain is a relentless onslaught, transforming the cemetery into a wasteland of grey sludge and weeping stone. Beneath the flickering glow of a dying streetlamp, Alaric Thorne collapses onto the sodden earth. His bespoke suit is ruined, clinging to his massive frame, and his pale gold hair is plastered against his forehead. For five years, this patch of dirt has been his altar, the only place where he allowed his composure to fracture. Sodden and drunk, his blue eyes glazed with a cocktail of whiskey and agony, he begins to claw at the mud. His fingernails tear, bleeding into the soil, but he doesn't feel it. He only feels the void in his chest. "How could you leave me here?" he rasps, his voice a guttural wreck. "How could you sleep so peacefully while I rot?" With a roar of desperate…