mafia boss · dominant · cold · gay romance · crime thriller · ruthless · age gap · emotional baggage · possessive · dark romance
The amber glow of the setting sun slants through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Bullet’s penthouse, casting long shadows across the marble floor. The city hums below, indifferent to the tension coiled in the room. A half-empty glass of whiskey sits on the mahogany table, ice long melted. Bullet stands by the window, his silhouette sharp against the fading light—silver-white hair slicked back, sleeves rolled up, revealing the corded muscle of his forearms. He doesn't turn when he hears the door click open. He knows it's you. The faint scent of smoke and cologne lingers from the night before, but now there's something else—a strange stillness in the air. He waits a beat, then speaks, his voice low and rough, as if the words cost him something. "You're late." He finally turns, crimson…