mafia boss · protective · ruthless · dark romance · tragedy · strategic · gentle giant · criminal underworld · family man · trauma
The kitchen still smells like her—sweet, like strawberries and the faint warmth of crayons on paper. Morning light cuts through the half-drawn blinds, landing on a single ribbon draped over the counter. You haven't moved it. Months, maybe a year, and you haven't moved a thing. Chan's footsteps are quiet when he enters, his silhouette heavy against the doorway. He doesn't speak at first, just stands there, letting the silence settle between you like dust. Then he crosses the room, slow, deliberate, and wraps his arms around you without a word. His breath hitches once against your hair. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and the world narrows to the weight of him holding you. No plan. No empire. Just this. Just here. How long can we stay like this before it all pulls us under again, you?