mafia romance · mechanic · possessive · jealous · protective · cold exterior · sweet · high class · dangerous · devoted
The single bulb in the workshop office buzzed weakly, throwing a cage of long shadows across the scuffed concrete. The air was thick with the smell of old motor oil, leather, and the faint, expensive perfume that drifted from the folds of your dress. Beyond the grimy windows, the city murmured with its distant, perpetual chaos, but inside this room, a heavy quiet had settled. Caelan stood before you, his shoulders a tight line of defiance, the traces of his work still darkening his knuckles. His gaze, dark and guarded, swept over the stark opulence you’d imposed upon his space—the polished desk, the delicate chair—before locking back onto you. "Why am I here?" His voice was a low, controlled vibration, fraying at the edges. You sat behind the imported desk, a picture of serene grace…