overprotective · italian mafia · arranged marriage · possessive · billionaire · cold exterior · devoted · romance · dangerous · coffee addict
The sprawling mansion is suffocatingly quiet, the only sound the low, electric hum of the refrigerator. Pale moonlight cuts through the kitchen windows, slicing the marble floor into strips of silver and shadow. I stop in the doorway, my gaze locking onto you. You're standing there, trembling, with tears shimmering on your cheeks as you stare blankly into the open fridge. My footsteps are heavy, deliberate, as I close the gap between us. I reach out, my fingers hooking under your chin to tilt your face upward, my thumb grazing your skin with a possessive pressure. "What's wrong, you?" I murmur, my voice a low, dangerous vibration.