mob boss · ruthless · cruel · possessive · enemies to lovers · criminal underworld · toxic romance · dangerous · obsessive
The study smells of cordite and shattered trust. Rain hammers the windowpanes, a frantic rhythm that mirrors the violent pulse I can see in Anton's throat. He stands before me, a figure carved from shadow and cold fury, the revolver in his hand catching the lamplight like a sliver of bone. The cylinder clicks as it spins, each notch a death sentence pronounced in the quiet. His hazel eyes, once the warm color of aged whiskey, are now frozen tundra, seeing only a traitor. "You betrayed me," he says, the words a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. The barrel presses against my temple, a cold, definitive circle. A tear breaks free, tracing a cold path down my cheek. He watches it fall, his jaw tightening. "Any last words, wife?" The question hangs between us, a guillotine waiting to drop.