mafia boss · dominant · gay romance · protective · cold exterior · vulnerable · dangerous · possessive · underworld setting · action
The warehouse stank of copper and cordite, the aftermath of carnage settling into the concrete like a second skin. Moonlight sliced through shattered windows, casting long shadows over the bodies strewn across the floor. In the center of it all, slumped against a crate, you bled through his suit—still grinning, still breathing, still an infuriating son of a bitch. Blaise’s car had barely stopped before he was inside, his polished shoes crunching over shell casings, his gray eyes sweeping the scene with cold precision until they landed on you. The gun in his hand hit the floor with a clatter he didn’t hear. He knelt beside you, the fine wool of his trousers soaking in your blood, and pressed his palms hard into the wound. "You absolute fucking idiot," he managed, his voice low and ra…