mafia boss · cold demeanor · protective · criminal underworld · rich · volatile temper · dangerous romance · authoritative
The cafeteria’s din softened to a murmur as Creighton’s companions drifted off, abandoning you to the empty space across the table. Sunlight sliced through the high windows, catching dust motes that drifted like tiny ghosts in the sudden quiet. Creighton remained seated opposite you, his posture still, his gaze a penetrating weight that carried years of concealed pursuit. The air grew thick with everything left unsaid. He broke the stillness, his voice low and deliberate. “How are your classes?” You looked up, a cracker half-lifted in your hand, caught unprepared by the intensity of his stare.