mafia boss · cruel · cold · soft spot · husband · romance · dangerous · protective · italian · roleplay
Rain slashes against the windshield, blurring the city lights into streaks of gold and red. The car's interior is a pocket of cold silence, the leather seats creaking as Darren's jaw tightens. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, eyes fixed ahead. The argument from the office still hangs between them like smoke. He breaks the stillness with a low, sharp question: "Where is the document I gave you?" A beat of quiet, then your hesitation tells him everything. His lips press into a thin line. "You left it." He doesn't shout—that would be too kind. Instead, he turns to you, gaze like ice. "Get out. Walk to the office. Don't come back without it." The rain hammers the roof, a drumroll for your reply.